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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133136">The Knight And The Dragon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcane/pseuds/arcane'>arcane</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthurian, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Dragons, Druids, Eventual Smut, Feelings Realization, Forbidden Love, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Knight Aziraphale (Good Omens), Knights - Freeform, M/M, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Post-Scene: The Ritz (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scene: Kingdom of Wessex 537 AD (Good Omens), Shapeshifting, Sharing a Bed, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens), Yuletide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28133136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcane/pseuds/arcane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Christmas festivities are interrupted by the rumour about a dragon which has made its home nearby. King Arthur sends one of his knights, sir Aziraphale, to smite the creature and free the children taken to its lair. But the eyes looking at sir Aziraphale from the darkness of the cavern turn out to be familiar. And as the matter of fact, sir Aziraphale himself is not exactly who he claims to be...<br/>This is a story about the Knights of the Round Table, dragons, druids — and a long long road from being in love to being brave enough to love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Gawain/Lancelot du Lac (Arthurian)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772144">Рыцарь и дракон</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcane/pseuds/arcane">arcane</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Kingdom of Wessex, 549</i>
</p><p>Light poured through the image of an angel: the palms of his hands, the sword raised to heaven, the red lining of his cloak. His hair enveloped his head like flames, the halo completely dissolved in them, as if replacing the holiness by the chaos of worldly life. Or even by something demonic.</p><p>The face of another angel, adorned with flecks from that stained glass window, was as unquiet as the water surface in foul weather. Anyone who looked at Aziraphale now would think that his feelings were easy to read. In fact, if they had tried to do so, both mortals and creatures of another kind would have quickly realized that they did not know any suitable language.</p><p>The stained glass angel reminded Aziraphale of a certain demon. He suddenly realised that Crowley hadn't been around for more than a decade — since he made an outrageous proposal to lie to Heaven and Hell. This thought came so unexpectedly in the middle of a quiet walk through the chapel that Aziraphale did not immediately realise it as something inappropriate. Then he caught himself: was it decent to think about the Enemy in a place of worship and piety? But the rough stones of the chapel radiated silence and cold; the colours, brought on by the stained glass, already faded away: winter sun in this part of the world was scarce and disappeared faster than you could cross the hall. It was almost the winter solstice, the twelfth one Aziraphale was going to spend at King Arthur's court. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he was bored — something that had never happened in Crowley's presence.</p><p>Looking after humans was interesting, but their lives, as any stories, had the beginning, the most important part, and the end; the rest was just words that fill out empty space. It seemed to Aziraphale that everything important had already happened in Arthur's life; some events, as entrusted from Above, he gave his blessing. Peace prevailed in the Kingdom of Wessex, interrupted sometimes by unsuccessful raids from the neighbours. The knights gathered by the King at the Round Table were the best; the valiant and strong warriors, they were rightly proud of their deeds, and bards composed songs about them. The earthly time went on in its course. There has always been something special about this island, and here and now, among the stones and the trees that already forgot the footsteps of Roman soldiers, this feeling began transforming into something more. Like a breath held up a moment before the name is spoken out loud. Aziraphale was anxious to hear how it would sound.</p><p>Nevertheless, nothing was happening. The Heaven was silent, as if they forgot all about him, and even Crowley did not make an appearance to cause some mischief. Not that Aziraphale wished Arthur ill, but the thwarting of demonic plans of the Black Knight would have been at least some kind of entertainment among the endless feasts, long walks in the heather fields and battles. This was the reason to think about him, and not that Aziraphale missed the opportunity to share his thoughts with someone who can understand.</p><p>***</p><p>Ivy, mistletoe and holly flooded the castle in green waves, as if nature had invaded human dwelling to regain it. This year, the Christmas decorations were especially lavish, and everyone from the cook to the King’s squire had been looking at it dreamily for the past few days. The anticipation of the holiday  affected even Aziraphale; he was hoping for a pleasant evening and a special treat. Every century, the human race invented something new to do with food, and Aziraphale admired their imagination. He just needed to remember not to look at the boar's head in the middle of the table — a joke entirely in the spirit of one familiar serpent became a Christmas tradition; Aziraphale never got around to ask him directly, but he was sure that people would not have thought of such a thing on their own accord.</p><p>As darkness fell, the ceremonial hall of Camelot was filled with the King's faithful companions. He and his wife were seated at the head of a long table, on the dais, in front of which the court bard slowly was pulling  the strings. A thousand candles were spilling the festive light around, and it reflected off Aziraphale’s tunic, embroidered with silver thread. He was bathed in a soft glow, unwittingly drawing the attention  of others. With careless pleasure he munched on the roasted quail. To the Knights of the Round Table and their loved ones, Sir Aziraphale was well known — he was part of Arthur's inner circle and it seemed as if he was there from the very beginning. But no one could tell where he had come from or what merited such an enviable position. Meeting Aziraphale, everyone felt instant inclination to like him, vague as a dream before dawn, and at the same time — equally inexplicable doubt. None of those who tried to understand what was happening could bring this thought to any conclusion, let alone share it with the others. But with each passing year, the feeling that something was not quite right with him grew and strengthened without words, like the bee swarm humming with danger. In creating people, the Almighty has endowed them with greater ability to protect themselves than they knew of. Usually, Aziraphale did not stay in one place long enough to contend with it. His present assignment has far exceeded all limits, but if Aziraphale learned something from having an acquaintance with the Fallen, it is that Heaven does not encourage questions.</p><p>The music turned merrier and dancing couples filled the hall. Looking at them brought a smile to Aziraphale’s face. For all their misdemeanours, people are wonderful creatures, capable of creating something that seems to have no sense and yet gives so much joy. Those who did not come out to dance were engaged in pleasant conversations. An explosion of laughter burst from a small group around the King. Aziraphale resolved to join the dance and was just getting up from his seat, smoothing out wrinkles on his tunic, as the doors to the hall flung open.</p><p>A man appeared on the doorstep, looking as if he had been pursued by an army. Shaken, he sharply exhaled and fixed his gaze on the King. The music died down, the dancers froze. All eyes turned to look at what  caused the disturbance.</p><p>Aziraphale did not have time to halt his movement, and now stood as if he was most excited about the sudden  arrival of a stranger. To save himself the embarrassment, he politely coughed and asked:<br/>
“Who are you to appear before King Arthur like this during the holy feast?”</p><p>The stranger finally stopped searching the faces of others and focused on Aziraphale. Neither young nor old, in the sensible clothes of a merchant or an innkeeper, he wiped sweat from his forehead, straightened and bowed awkwardly.</p><p>“Please forgive me, Your Majesty, gentlemen. But something wicked is lurking so close to your castle! There is a dragon on the lake, just thirty miles away. I just saw it with my own eyes, a huge monster! For a long time there has been a rumor about it in the neighbouring villages. They’ve been saying that you should not take a short road around the lake when it’s dark. I’ve heard whispers about this creature but did not take them seriously. I was in such a hurry to deliver the goods for the holiday and barely escaped, your Excellencies! This monster will destroy us all if you do not protect us. Nobody wanted to talk about it in fear of causing more trouble. But he takes the children!” the man nervously crumpled his hat in the palms of his hands. “John Killan’s girl and the son of the baker have disappeared over the last month. Just little babes. The monster dragged them into its cave.”</p><p>A terrified whisper rose among the courtiers. Arthur frowned and put his goblet on the table. Aziraphale, knowing that the last dragon on Earth died of old age two centuries ago, looked at the merchant with obvious doubt and said nothing.</p><p>Sir Gawain was the first to speak up. For some reason, he was more suspicious of Aziraphale than the other knights, and never missed the opportunity for a well-meaning, strictly in the knight's code, jibe. Mainly on the subject of the skill with which sir Aziraphale avoided taking the sword in his hands.</p><p>“Sir Aziraphale, do you not believe this honest man? Is it not our duty to help those who turned to the King for protection?”</p><p>“I did not say anything of the sort,” with a slight annoyance replied Aziraphale. </p><p>“But you doubted his words, sir Aziraphale, otherwise you would not hesitate,” intervened Arthur. His calm, low voice always reminded anyone who might have forgotten it that this man united his people into one kingdom and kept defending them against the onslaught of neighbouring tribes. Unlike his knights, he had no doubts about Aziraphale and secretly believed that he was bringing good fortune — an opinion much closer to reality than the king would have seriously considered. But a wise ruler could not dismiss the words of his closest associates, no matter how much he cherished the company of one of them.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed and once again adjusted his tunic.<br/>
“Honestly, sire. The dragon? For sure, there is another explanation for the missing children.”</p><p>“But I saw it with my own eyes!” exclaimed the merchant, “a huge shadow sliding in the moonlight! Look, gentlemen, what a bright night it is today. No animal can be this size and move so fast.”</p><p>“It seems to be easy to settle this dispute,” said sir Lancelot. “Sir Aziraphale, why don't you go there and see for yourself, since you think that dragons don't exist?”</p><p>“Yes, indeed!”</p><p>“Go ahead, Aziraphale!” other knights joined in. Sir Gawain grinned openly.</p><p>“Oh, they are serious,” muttered Aziraphale.</p><p>The king rose from his seat. Everybody went silent at once.</p><p>“Sir Aziraphale, you have always been a wise advisor to me, so I am willing to trust you now, but,” Arthur spread his hands, “only if you make sure of your opinion by checking in person. Admit it, we ought to know what is happening in our lands.</p><p>“As you say, sire,” Aziraphale bowed politely. Pulling himself up, he glanced at the merchant. Suddenly, the man felt an overwhelming urge to give warm clothes to his neighbours, scatter some grain in the backyard for wild birds, and apologize to his wife. He was not prone to charity or self-reflection and had no idea what came over him. Confusing emotions made him turn away and almost run home.</p><p>***</p><p>“What a peaceful night it could have been,” thought Aziraphale, saddling up the horse. He hoped to finish reading an interesting Greek manuscript after the feast. Instead, he had to put on his armour, take his sword, and ride out on the moonlit road. The horse was also not happy to leave the warm stall, and Aziraphale patted the animal on the neck with sympathy.</p><p>The lake appeared in front of them, the pre-dawn fog already curling on the surface; under thick gray clouds it was impossible to see water. Only reed stalks stuck out of it, and sleepy ducks shouted at each other in silence. Aziraphale pulled the reins and slowed down to a walk. He carefully looked around and did not find anything unusual. On the far shore, one could see a cliff densely covered in moss, then a forest. Aziraphale approached it and dismounted to give the horse some rest.</p><p>It was beautiful and calm here. For miles around not a single person, only the lush landscape. Could a merchant have mistaken a dragon for a shadow from a rock’s ledge? The stones were fancifully rounded, almost like the columns of Roman temples, and the ivy painted them with dark lace. Aziraphale put his palm on the rough surface and walked along it without taking off his hand. Sometimes the sensation of the physical body helped him to think; maybe he has spent too much time in this form, has gotten too used to it.</p><p>His fingers caught on the ivy branches and fell into the hollow space. Aziraphale froze, feeling a subtle movement of air on his cheek. Thick leaves, which covered the rock, easily moved aside like a curtain; behind it there was a passage.</p><p>Aziraphale looked inside.</p><p>“Good afternoon?” he felt foolish to say these words, but politeness could never go amiss. Why not say hello to mushrooms, mice, or whoever else usually lives in such places.</p><p>Two yellow eyes with vertical pupils looked at him from the darkness; not as big as the dragon’s eyes are supposed to be. Aziraphale forgot for a second that his body was supposed to breathe. The eyes blinked as if they were no less surprised to see him; the shadow behind them smoothly slid closer, gently swayed and froze. In the scattered light one could see smooth dark sides and a red stripe going down, an elegant muzzle, a split tongue.</p><p>No, it was definitely not a dragon. Aziraphale was right. But the merchant could also be understood: the Serpent of Eden has always been quite large.</p><p>“Crowley?” Aziraphale said with a weak voice.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Serpent lurched very close, so close that Aziraphale could reach him with his hand — or his sword, if he wished. Aziraphale felt the weight of the steel on his hip, the coldness in his palm, with which he involuntarily gripped the hilt as he entered the cave. He tried to unclench his fingers discreetly, but in the silence the gauntlets made a loud scraping noise. The yellow eyes widened faintly, then immediately squinted; contemptuous or wary, the angel could not discern. He jerked his palm away from the sword and folded both hands in front of him just in case. Considering how they had parted the last time, this was all extremely awkward.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” He finally managed to force the words through dry throat.</p><p>“Sure you should be asking me that, angel?” The serpent stretched upward and assumed his usual human form. Next to the armour-clad Aziraphale his simple dark tunic, tight trousers, and soft leather shoes looked almost indecent. Crowley rummaged through the folds of his clothes and pulled out his spectacles; Aziraphale watched as the yellow eyes disappeared behind the dark lenses with the regret he had grown accustomed to over the years. “I'm not the one who comes crashing into your house, clattering metal all over the place.”</p><p>“Home? You live in this cave?”</p><p>“And you still wear this," Crowley waved ambiguously towards the angel with his hand; the gesture was unmistakably snakelike. “Tin?”</p><p>Aziraphale pulled his helmet off his head.<br/>
“I'm a Knight of the Round Table, I'm supposed to wear armour! What happened to the Black Knight?”</p><p>“Ah. Got bored. I told you: no one checks on us.” Crowley answered in a deliberately lazy tone, but there was something in the way he spoke that caught Aziraphale's ear; something he could not yet separate from the demon's usual demeanor.</p><p>“And you've decided to settle in a cave and scare passersby?”</p><p>“People love to tell stories and get frightened by them." Crowley shrugged, undisturbed. Only four and a half thousand years of observation allowed Aziraphale to notice the unusual stiffness with which he did so. It was as if Crowley didn't quite know what to expect from him. It was as if Aziraphale was a threat to him. Aziraphale suddenly felt uncomfortable: perhaps he had made a mistake, but he couldn't remember when or which one. “Have you come to slay me?”</p><p>“No, of course not!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “That would be incredibly foolish of me.”</p><p>“Foolish? Do not forget that I am your enemy, angel,” interrupted Crowley.</p><p>“Of course you are my enemy. But that doesn't mean I'm going to try,” Aziraphale waved his hand as if to indicate holding his sword. “We've gotten along quite well so far.”</p><p>“Have you changed your mind about my offer to work together, then?” Crowley nonchalanty turned away and with light steps walked into the depths of the cave.</p><p>Aziraphale had no choice but to follow him. The narrow corridor grew darker the further they went.</p><p>“Really, Crowley…” he paused before he could speak; they seemed to have come to a blank wall, but before Aziraphale could ask what now, Crowley seemed to vanish into the darkness.</p><p>A moment later Crowley's arm and then the head emerged from the wall. Lowering his spectacles to the bridge of his nose, he glanced sideways at the surprised Aziraphale:<br/>
“Are you coming, or are you going to stay here?”</p><p>Aziraphale approached the wall and stretched out his hand. Where it should have met the cold and damp surface, there was only air, noticeably warmer than around it. Crowley disappeared again, and Aziraphale, closing his eyes, stepped after him.</p><p>Only now did he feel his body had grown cold, for he suddenly found himself enveloped in warmth — the kind you might expect in winter inside a house that is rarely heated; still insufficient for complete comfort, but in comparison with the air outside, pleasant. He opened his eyes and could not suppress a surprised exclamation.</p><p>They were standing at the opening of the cave; not a narrow passageway in the rock, as before, but a space no smaller than Camelot's ceremonial hall. And no less majestic.</p><p>The high rounded ceiling was lost in the shadows, but the rest of the hall was illuminated; intricate mushrooms of all shapes and colours shone — some of them bright, some more pale — along the walls and stone columns of stalactites and stalagmites. A few had grown to the size of a torch. In the alcove where they were concentrated it was almost like daylight; if Aziraphale decided to read now, he could easily do so. Others dangled in threads from the walls, drowning in moss, and scattered splashes of light in darkened corners. This was how the galaxies had looked at the beginning of time, so infinitely distant and yet so close, still devoid of life but frozen in its anticipation.</p><p>In the depths of the cave, soft light reflected in a small lake of water of such a brilliant azure color that it would have shone if the clouds of steam had not almost concealed it. It seemed to be the source of the heat; lichen spread on its edge like some sort of a carpet.</p><p>“My dear Crowley, it is beautiful!” Aziraphale exhaled in admiration.</p><p>There was only a rustling sound in response. Aziraphale turned around just in time to see Crowley's human features transform into serpentine. The Serpent, without even looking at him, gently unfolded his rings and headed for the darkest part of the cave, where the blue sparks barely glowed. There, on a pile of moss and dry leaves, lay a featherbed. It looked a lot cozier than the bed Aziraphale had had to put up with in the castle.</p><p>“Crowley?” he hesitantly asked. The Serpent was already curled up there, evidently about to sleep. Such behaviour was too impolite even for him. Not that demons understood anything about hospitality, but so far Crowley had been surprisingly attentive to every conversation with Aziraphale.</p><p>It had been several millennia since Aziraphale had had the chance to watch Crowley turn into a serpent. He had become as accustomed to Crowley’s human form as he had to his own; the sharp angles, the mischievous smirks, and sometimes unconcealed amazement at the world in Crowley’s golden eyes reflected the same truth as the softness that radiated from Aziraphale’s own earthly shell. The truth of their own will, of what they were when the eyes of Hell and Heaven were not upon them. Humanity, having learned good and evil, became free; angels and demons were bound by service. Twelve years ago, Crowley had frightened him, as he proposed to change that — not even by the words he spoke, but by how easy it seemed to give in. How easy it was to believe that there were so few differences in their interests that they could do each other's work. One thing was clear: neither side would be happy with such an arrangement. One of them should follow the rules, and of course it would have to be Aziraphale. Resisting temptation is an important skill for any angel.</p><p>In the time that Crowley had not spoken to him as a serpent, Aziraphale had forgotten what it was like. He felt it before he heard it. It was as if a breath had casually touched a sensitive spot on his neck, made the hairs stand up, and thousands of sparks washed over his skin, leaving behind a slight numbness. And then there was the voice in his head, hissing and smooth. He could have forced it out, shut it down, but for Crowley it was the only way to communicate in his current guise. Aziraphale closed his eyes.</p><p>
  <i>“I can't, angel. Must ssleep. Give me time, and we'll talk. Or fight. As you wish.”</i>
</p><p>Crowley fell silent. Aziraphale cast a quick glance at him and made sure he went still. Only a glint of light bloomed occasionally on the shiny black scales.</p><p>Surprised and slightly concerned, Aziraphale walked over to the bed. After giving it some thought he performed a small miracle to free himself from the armour, then sat on the edge and stretched his legs, trying to stay as far away from the Serpent as possible. Nothing disturbed the silence in the cave. There was nothing to read, besides he didn't want to. The ethereal creatures didn't need sleep, but Aziraphale had learned in recent years that sometimes it was the only way to pass the time. A knight who wandered around the castle all night long, or burned candles all the time in his chambers, would raise a lot of questions.</p><p>“Let’s hope it's for a few hours, not years,” he mumbled, getting comfortable on his back, arms folded neatly across his chest.</p><p>***</p><p>Unlike food, the pleasure of sleep remained a mystery to Aziraphale. Unquestionably useful for disguise, nothing more. He always awoke at a time he found decent, got out of bed as soon as he could and at once put on the clothes to hide his body. So the fact that he didn't feel like moving now upon awakening was highly unusual. A pleasant heaviness on his chest lulled him, as if there were no worries in the world. His palms rested on something delightfully smooth and fine, like snake’s skin...</p><p>Aziraphale opened his eyes wide, all the calmness gone in an instant; how foolishly he had forgotten himself! There was indeed the Serpent in his arms, who somehow climbed on him in his sleep, seeking the warmth. Horror overwhelmed Aziraphale; he could neither move nor move the Serpent. Crowley certainly wouldn't like it; he always evaded even the most fleeting touch, and would find this position not just unpleasant, but humiliating. Sleeping like an animal, and on the chest of a creature he despised — but no, Crowley had never shown him any contempt; for other angels, for Heaven, yes, but not Aziraphale. Why, then, Crowley holds himself so wary and cold now?</p><p>Aziraphale finally found a place for his hands: he placed them on the featherbed along his body. He did not have to wait long; no sooner had his thoughts run a second circle than yellow unblinking eyes stared at him.</p><p>Time seemed to stop, and with it, so did they, trapped in the moment, like particles of stardust before the Creation began.</p><p>Then the Serpent darted to the side and in one motion was a yard away from the bed. There he froze, raising his head above his long body, folded in rings. Aziraphale sat up, neatly put his arms in his lap, and decided it was better to wait for Crowley to speak first.</p><p>After a brief silence, something between the rattle of gravel and the beginning of a Tibetan monk's song sounded in Aziraphale's head. Crowley blinked and tried again:<br/>
<i>“Ngk.”</i></p><p>Aziraphale raised his eyebrows encouragingly.</p><p>
  <i>“Nnnk... It's an instinct.”</i>
</p><p>“Of course,” he agreed easily.</p><p><i>“From cold... to warmth,”</i> Crowley explained.</p><p>“I understand, it is perfectly natural.”</p><p>Crowley was silent, as if he expected objection, and, not finding it, didn't know how to continue. Aziraphale was patiently silent.</p><p>
  <i>“All right, angel, what did you want?”</i>
</p><p>Now was Aziraphale’s turn to be confused by the sudden change in tone.</p><p>“Why do you look like that, Crowley?”</p><p>
  <i>“You don't like it?”</i> the usual snide remark sounded more tired than sarcastic.
</p><p>It was awkward to talk while sitting on the bed, but this way they were the same height, and Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes. Used to looking for the bright side in everything, the angel thought that at least Crowley wasn't hiding them now; this habit of Crowley had always befuddled him.</p><p>“I will not insist; if it's preferable, I won't ask any more questions. But I thought you liked your human form, and it's quite..." Aziraphale hesitated, searching for the right word. “satisfactory.”</p><p>Crowley stared at him in disbelief, as if Aziraphale had grown a second head. But he didn't seem to have said anything that should have elicited such a reaction.</p><p><i>“I can't turn back more than for a couple of hours each day.”</i> Crowley said slowly. <i>“And when I’m like this, I just want to sleep most of the time.”</i></p><p>“How long has this been going on?” Aziraphale exclaimed.</p><p>The Serpent swayed his head:<br/>
<i>“A couple of years. I didn’t count.”</i></p><p>“But, my dear,” Aziraphale nervously clenched his fists. “have you not tried to overcome it?”</p><p>
  <i>“How, angel? And what “it” would that be?”</i>
</p><p>“You could have called me for help, together we could have solved your problem!”</p><p>
  <i>“You and I are on opposite sides. I don't need help.”</i>
</p><p>“But…”</p><p>
  <i>“I'm tired. Tell me, how long has it been since you heard anything from yours?”</i>
</p><p>Aziraphale sighed:<br/>
“Twelve years. The last time was when I was commissioned to help Arthur bring peace to this land.”</p><p>
  <i>“Haven't you get bored already? What's the point of all this if we can just be forgotten like this? Well, it's only for the best for me, because demons aren't exactly pleasant company, but what about you?”</i>
</p><p>“Honestly, I like living among humans,” Aziraphale brightened up a little. “Sir Gawain and sir Lancelot can be a bit too snarky, but I'm used to that,” he glanced at the Serpent.</p><p>Crowley hissed with contempt:<br/>
<i>“Humans are no better than the most loathsome demons and the most pompous archangels. Think of Jesus, whose birth they celebrate today, as if they didn't kill him with their own hands. This is the kind of perversion I haven't even seen down below.”</i></p><p>“There is good and evil in them. Even without our influence. They also have an imagination. I think that was the whole point. Isn't that splendid?” Aziraphale grimaced, realizing that his voice didn't sound very convincing. “God's plans are ineffable.”</p><p>
  <i>“Angel. You didn't come here to preach to me, did you?”</i>
</p><p>Aziraphale pressed his lips together.<br/>
“People are afraid of you.”</p><p>
  <i>“That's right, let them be afraid. I am a demon.”</i>
</p><p>“They think,” Aziraphale continued, “that you're a huge, horrible dragon. And kidnapped two children.”</p><p>
  <i>“Mm.”</i>
</p><p>“Crowley…”</p><p><i>“They're right,”</i> the Serpent's quiet whisper made Aziraphale feel a chill on the back of his neck. <i>“What? Did you expect to hear something else?”</i></p><p>“But why? How? What do you need children for?” Aziraphale looked around involuntarily, though he knew that if they had been in the cave, he would have noticed long ago. “You said you hadn't been given an assignment in a long time.”</p><p><i>“You've got to have some fun,”</i> said Crowley flatly.</p><p>“And what did you do with them?”</p><p>Crowley did not answer right away; he stood still for a moment, as if listening to something, and then spoke:<br/>
<i>“It's getting dark. Come on, I want to show you something. The birth of Jesus isn't the only thing they're celebrating today.”</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night spilled out over the world, moonless, strangely quiet. Not a trill of a sleepy bird, not a bark of a fox, not a rustle of some little creature in the bushes. Even the crackle of broken twigs underfoot seemed to sink into the soft ground, slowly delving deeper with every step taken. The forest stood still, waiting out the darkness.</p><p>The glow of the sphere that Crowley created was enough for Aziraphale to know where to put his feet and to have a notion of what was around him. It floated in front of them, picking out from the darkness mossy rocks and bare branches. There was no trail; ivy covered earth with dark green leaves, cascading down from the tree trunks. Here and there the bright red holly berries could be seen. Aziraphale's breath hung like clouds in the cold, wet air, and he glanced at Crowley, wondering what it was like for him in this weather. But the Serpent slid forward undisturbed, and Aziraphale hesitated to ask that question aloud. He just wrapped himself more tightly in the white fur-trimmed cloak that he put on right over his tunic. He was glad that he had left his armour in the cave: for some reason it seemed out of place here. </p><p>It was a long walk. Aziraphale lost track of time and tried to imagine how far the forest spread. Crowley was silent; Aziraphale suspected that all his attention was focused on trying not to freeze. It would have been wise for Crowley to wrap himself around Aziraphale's shoulders: despite the Serpent's imposing size, Azirapahle would not have been hampered in the least, and there would have been less chance that Crowley would fall asleep or drop dead from the cold. </p><p>Aziraphale searched for the right words, trying to find something that would not hurt Crowley's pride. It was not easy: accepting help, as the past had shown, was unworthy of a demon. Once in a while Aziraphale managed to do something for him unnoticed: shelter him from the rain, show him a beautiful view, treat him to fine wine, push aside annoying humans. Each such occurrence, however fleeting, Aziraphale treasured in his memory, filled with pride and joy akin to those of watching Adam and Eve learn to use fire, but infinitely different. It was a feeling he wanted to experience again and again; but he couldn't give it a name. The demonic nature did not prevent Crowley himself from being generous, and sometimes even sweet, the nicest creature Aziraphale had ever met; no one else had ever done anything personally for Aziraphale, and it was unfair that he could not openly express his care in return…</p><p>The sphere went out. For a moment Aziraphale was alarmed that Crowley could have heard his thoughts and found them inappropriate. He quickly promised himself not to call the demon nice ever again, and only then noticed that Crowley had stopped, and right in front of them, behind a dense wall of trees and bushes, a warm light from the fire was visible.</p><p>
  <i>“Come closer. Quiet, so they don't see us.”</i>
</p><p>Aziraphale took a few steps and stood beside Crowley, at the very edge of the darkness. Through the gap between the branches he could see the clearing, where a tall fire was crackling. Around it were gathered people in cloaks adorned with ivy and spruce. They were talking and laughing softly. A golden sickle glittered in the hand of one of them; the man bent down to place something on a flat boulder, and, as he stepped back, Aziraphale saw a cut-off mistletoe branch, heavy with white berries. </p><p>There was something special about this place in the middle of the woods, elusively warm, like the flames in a hearth through the window of a house when standing outside, uninvited.</p><p>“Tonight is the longest night of the year,” the quiet voice on the right said aloud. “It's important to them: nature is as good as dead, everything is cold and silent, but from the next morning things get better. Longer days, more sunshine, then boom — there are apples on the table. Or whatever it is they prefer to eat now.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned his head toward him and smiled:<br/>
“It’s good to see you again.”</p><p>The flames reflected in Crowley's spectacles. He stared straight ahead, motionless, as if he hadn't changed his appearance from snake to human. </p><p>“Have you ever wondered why She made their lives so easy? Granted, they have to provide for themselves, deal with illness and death, and there are no miracles for them. But just live by the basic rules, and otherwise do what you want. Choose what you like best, good or evil. And no matter how hard you try, it's almost impossible to end up alone. They stick to each other, as if something pulls them together. Have you ever seen heavenly bodies form, angel? Dust to dust. It's the same here. Disgusting, if you think about it.</p><p>Aziraphale followed his gaze to where Crowley was looking. A tall woman with a staff, green from ivy leaves, stepped into the middle of the clearing. She wore a strange decoration of deer antlers, and between them, like a crown, a wreath of holly. Aziraphale noticed red against her temple; she must have been scratched by one of the sharp leaves. Before he could answer, the people had fallen quiet. In the silence, the woman raised her hands and began to chant. </p><p>“Great Serpent, I call to you. I feel the winter’s chill now, but I remember the heat of the fire you keep. We thank you for all the gifts and all the hardships that have taught us wisdom in this solar cycle. Hasten to us! Give us strength, bring us back to life!”</p><p>“Great Serpent?” whispered Aziraphale.</p><p>“I was just passing by, minding my own business. They look for hidden meaning in everything!”</p><p>The people held hands in silence.</p><p>“They are druids, aren't they?” Aziraphale asked. “Arthur keeps saying how bad it is that they do nothing to protect the realm. In years past the knights could not even find them, it was said they had gone to other lands. Arthur did not believe that.”</p><p>“Mm," Crowley said as he watched them.</p><p>“It's not the Almighty they worship.”</p><p>“Not so sure it’s so simple, angel. They are honest: they worship what they see and feel. Isn’t there Her will in it? Who pulled this trick with the change of the seasons? This lot," Crowley nodded in their direction. “Wasn't my idea, I can tell you that. It's boring. Not even worth the temptation.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned and closed his eyes, listening to his feelings. That elusive warmth that had caught his attention earlier was turning into heat — not wild and burning everything in its path, but calm. “Giving life” was the words that came to his mind. He reached out for the space in front of him, and it reached out in return, pouring like wine from an unfailing cup, enveloping everything around him. Like love, and yet different; if a sprout that makes its way to the sun — just two leaves on a fragile stem — could feel love, and if the sun's full power could be enclosed in this love, that would be it.</p><p>“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale reached his hand without looking, without thinking, and grasped Crowley’s elbow. “How wonderful.”</p><p>Whereas before Crowley had just stood motionless, now he looked like a stone statue. Even the shadows of his eyelashes behind the dark glasses were frozen. </p><p>“I'd never felt anything like it. It is as if the air itself is sparkling with love. I can't even describe it in words! What is it?”</p><p>Crowley didn't answer. Only the corner of his lips twitched. </p><p>“Crowley?” Aziraphale turned to him, involuntarily squeezed his hand, and only then realised he was holding it in his own. He looked at the interlaced fingers, at Crowley's face, then toward the clearing. And then back to their hands. While Crowley's palm was cool, Aziraphale could feel himself radiating heat; his face was burning. </p><p>Aziraphale let go of the demon's hand and shifted from foot to foot. For some reason he felt awkward, but he brushed that feeling aside under the impression of a much stronger one. </p><p>“Crowley,” he called again. </p><p>Crowley responded with a slurred sound, then startled and adjusted his glasses:<br/>
“You said something?”</p><p>“What is this feeling?” Aziraphale repeated softly.</p><p>“This is a special place. I noticed something, too.”</p><p>“I thought demons couldn't feel love around them.”</p><p>Crowley tilted his head sideways, as if listening to something.<br/>
“It's a little different from that. Remember the Labyrinth of Minotaur on Crete two and a half thousand years ago? The same thing happened there. And in some forest sanctuaries near Rome. Either people's imagination, when there are many of them and they believe in something, creates this effect, or She conceived the Earth to be more interesting than we think. We pay more attention to the living as possessors of souls to fight for. Mostly to humans. Try to find an angel or a demon listening to the rocks or looking closely at the trees. It's the background we don't notice. But the druids believe that this background means something. And there are places where you can communicate with it.”</p><p>“Are you saying this forest is alive?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise.</p><p>“This forest, this land, this island, this piece of rock among the stars,” Crowley shrugged. “You know better what you feel. I'm a demon, and I'm not that finely attuned.”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated.</p><p>“I feel something, that’s certain. And the druids? What do they want?”</p><p>“As soon as the first humans got here, so did the druids. I know what you're thinking, but no, the demons really have nothing to do with it. Come along, they won't be doing anything interesting anymore.”</p><p>Crowley turned on his heel and headed further into the woods. Aziraphale hurried after him. The sphere of light illuminated the path again; now the angel was looking at the trees differently, as if they might be looking back. But the forest was quiet. There was a faint anticipation of dawn in it, nothing more. Maybe if he were here in the spring, things would be different? Azirapahle imagined the birds jumping on the branches, the murmur of the streams of water, the grass rustling in the wind, and smiled.</p><p>“The rulers changed, the people came and went," Crowley continued the story. “The druids stayed exactly where they had always been. It didn't seem to matter what ancestry the new chief druids came from — they were indifferent to power struggles, wars, and other temptations. Not that I haven't tried. Every year they do the same rituals. Sometimes the words change, but the meaning remains the same. They used to be respected, but under the Romans they had to hide. And your lot still don't welcome them. I talked to Morgan, she's in charge there now. They worship the forces that make Albion “alive” and protect the natural order, whatever that means.”</p><p>“Morgan? Crowley, <i>the lost sister of King Arthur Morgan?</i>”</p><p>“One can hardly call someone lost if they had left of their own free will.” Crowley smiled nonchalantly.</p><p>“But Arthur is looking for her everywhere!”</p><p>“Oh yes, I have heard of that. Very clever woman, that Morgan, though she does have a habit of putting antlers on her head. She was bored at court and chose a different path.”</p><p>Aziraphale pursed his lips. He sympathised with Arthur, who was a good man and had felt the loss of his sister immensely. </p><p>“You seem to like this cult.”</p><p>“Do I? Angel, I don't like people. It's my job to push them into evil. Though they can do it well without me.” He moved the branch aside carefully, letting Aziraphale pass. </p><p>“Your story tells me the druids aren't like that.”</p><p>Crowley shrugged with contempt:<br/>
“They are nothing interesting. People will be people. These are a little more honest than others and can be useful.”</p><p>“I knew you were up to something!” Aziraphale exclaimed indignantly. </p><p>Crowley raised his hand, slowing his pace, and pointed forward. Aziraphale nearly ran into his back. </p><p>They were standing in front of a small house, made of rough logs, blackened by time. The sloping roof was covered with moss, littered with pine cones and dried leaves, but the window was lit with the uneven light of a chimney. </p><p>“They are still awake,” Crowley circled Aziraphale, who had to walk closer to the porch.</p><p>“Who lives here?” Aziraphale looked questioningly first at the closed door, then at Crowley.</p><p>“You'll see.”</p><p>Aziraphale entered the house first, not knowing what to expect. The furnishings inside were sparse but cozy. The bed took up most of the room. Among the toys scattered across the floor stood a frightened boy about eight years old and a slightly older girl. Two pairs of eyes stared warily out of the half-light at Aziraphale; the girl stepped forward as if to defend the younger boy.</p><p>“Children!” Aziraphale flung his hands, trying to look as harmless as he could. Normally small humans responded differently to his presence, but he had never broken into someone's house in the middle of the forest before, and the parents were usually around.</p><p>The frowning faces didn't change one bit from his efforts, but instantly brightened as soon as they saw Crowley entering the house. Aziraphale turned around in surprise while two little whirlwinds rushed past him, stomping their feet.</p><p>“Uncle Crowley, uncle Crowley!” The children hung onto Crowley and seemed to be pulling him in all directions at once. Aziraphale was at a loss for words.</p><p>“Hey! Behave yourselves. Say hello to my friend. This is Aziraphale.”</p><p>“Good evening, Aziraphale,” the children said in an obedient chorus. They stood on either side of Crowley as he strolled about the room, surveying the interior.</p><p>“Good evening. What are your names?” Aziraphale looked at Crowley and at the children, and tried not to smile too broadly. It was difficult. </p><p>“Angharad,” the girl said.</p><p>“Seisyll,” the boy answered quickly afterward.</p><p>Crowley finished his examination and made a scary face, to which Seisyll giggled, making Angharad tug at his arm.</p><p>“What a mess you've made here. Did you have any visitors today?”</p><p>“Gwen in the morning, Megan in the evening,” Angharad said. “She made a nice dinner and told us a story.”</p><p>“Great. Do you know what the story means? That it's time for you to go to bed. I'll see if everything's all right in the backyard, and you stay here with Aziraphale. Behave yourselves!” Crowley shouted.</p><p>Aziraphale watched him go and smiled at the children. As soon as he got a better look at them, he noticed a faint yellow mark on Seisyll’s cheek, which a couple of weeks earlier must have been a huge bruise.</p><p>“What happened to you?” Aziraphale held out his hand without thinking. The boy recoiled as if he had swung for a punch; Aziraphale took a step back and raised his palms. “I won't hurt you, don't be afraid.”</p><p>“We are not afraid of you,” Angharad said. “Crowley says you are his friend. Seisyll just gets startled when people get too close to him, but he's learning not to jump away from everyone, aren’t you, Seisyll?”</p><p>The boy nodded and hid behind her back, continuing to watch Aziraphale with one curious eye. </p><p>“Seisyll was so beaten that he even couldn’t walk. But Crowley did something, and he recovered.”</p><p>“This is terrible, who did this to you, my boy?”</p><p>“Father,” answered Seisyll. </p><p>Aziraphale swallowed a lump in his throat. Every time he was confronted with senseless human cruelty, it was as if the ground was slipping from under his feet. All the questions he'd never allowed himself to ask, even in his mind, would come to the surface and he'd have to work hard to bury them back. The people themselves didn't even consider their actions to be anything out of the ordinary. Public executions, torture, slavery, violence, century after century remained a normal part of their existence, and sometimes even an entertainment. Aziraphale hoped that this would one day change, but for now, Heaven did not seem to mind.</p><p>“Seisyll has behaved badly,” Angharad added. “And his father is very strict. But Crowley said it couldn’t go on like this, that next time Seisyll wouldn't get up at all, and took him away. So that Crowley’s time would not be wasted, he said! Now we take care of each other. There's also Morgan, Gwen, Megan, they're good and they help us because Crowley asked them to. Do you know that Crowley is great?” She asked sternly.</p><p>“Yes, I... guess so,” Aziraphale said with effort. To himself he thought — oh, Crowley, you old serpent.</p><p>“Good thing he has a friend. And me he bought! They wanted to give me away to a nasty neighbour, because there were too many of us, and mother said she couldn’t feed us all anymore. I'm not afraid of anything, of course, but that neighbour had scary eyes and sweaty hands. Did you know that Crowley has pretty eyes? I saw them, but it's a secret! Like a cat's,” the girl quite relaxed and was now chattering non-stop. Aziraphale had no chance to get a word in edgeways, so he just listened and nodded.</p><p>“Hey! Stop gossiping!” Crowley shouted from the threshold. “Angel, whatever they tell you, don't let your guard down. Crafty little beasts.”</p><p>“Angel,” Angharad repeated and giggled. </p><p>Seisyll laughed.</p><p>“Oh no,” Crowley muttered. “All right, Aziraphale, it's time for us to go, and for you two to go to bed. Go to sleep, think of something... something…”</p><p>“Something good,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Yes,” grimaced Crowley.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The return journey was silent. Crowley's mood had changed; fatigue showing again in every movement, he was deep in his thoughts and did not look around or at Aziraphale. Closer to the cave he turned into a snake, and once inside headed straight for the bed.</p><p>Aziraphale sat down next to him.</p><p><i>“What?”</i> a voice murmured in his head.</p><p>“What do you mean? I am silent.”</p><p>
  <i>“You are looking.”</i>
</p><p>“You saved those children. And you got the druids to look after them.”</p><p>
  <i>“Nonsense, I'm just having fun. I thought it might be useful to raise my agents while their minds are still amenable. They could become terrifying instruments of Hell.”</i>
</p><p>“That bad, was it?” Aziraphale asked.</p><p>
  <i>“Of all the questions I ask myself about humans, the most unfathomable to me is how they can be so cruel to their own children. How they can create a living creature and then kick it out, when it’s not even capable of understanding what it is guilty of. Not just reject it, but put it in the wrong hands, knowing what awaits it there. Or to hurt it with their own hands, day after day. For them it is normal. Even the children themselves didn’t understand what had happened. Maybe later they'll wonder for the rest of their lives what was so wrong with them.”</i>
</p><p>It was as if someone's hands had descended upon Aziraphale’s heart, twisting it, wringing out every last drop of it like from an offcast rag. He suddenly felt very old and helpless, and he could not find the words to answer Crowley. Children might never realize that they had been treated unfairly, not knowing any different like many people before them. But he had known Crowley too long not to think it was not about them at all.</p><p>Trying to get hold of himself, he finally said quietly:<br/>
“I don't think there's anything wrong with them.”</p><p>Crowley did not answer. Aziraphale assumed he had fallen asleep, and made himself comfortable, to wait out another night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This time, waking up, Aziraphale remembered where he was, and was more prepared for what awaited him. He was not wrong: as he had anticipated, in his sleep Crowley had again moved closer to the warmth. His body was wrapped around Aziraphale's torso, his tail resting along Aziraphale’s thigh and his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. With each breath taken, the angel felt him lifting slightly, like a heavy blanket. Still not opening his eyes, Aziraphale let himself feel how nice it was. Just as basking in the spring sun, sitting on the steps of a temple in Cappadocia, with the heat slowly pouring over the whole body, when there is no need to move yet. Strange, because the cold Serpent should be taking heat, not giving it.</p><p>A forked tongue touched his neck; startled, Aziraphale opened his eyes and gasped. Crowley was still asleep and unmoving, but directly above them in the semi-darkness of the cave the stars were slowly floating, folding into galaxies, shifting as if an invisible hand was drawing them in, and, after examining, pushing aside. Clear or foggy, nebulas, ellipses, or roads to infinity, closer or farther away. It was like a dance, the music of which his ears could not catch. Like a beautiful painting that an artist painted right before his eyes. He had seen nothing like it on Earth or in Heaven, and did not know that such a thing was possible. But there could be no doubt: it was the dream that Crowley was having, somehow seeping into reality. Imagination is a gift inherent in humans. Of all the angels and demons, Crowley was the only one who shared it with them. He had possessed it before he fell; he retained it now, no matter what. The ways of the Almighty were indeed unfathomable.</p><p>The stars blinked and scattered around in sparks, melting into the lights along the walls and ceiling of the cave; those flared brighter. Aziraphale looked down and saw Crowley slowly raise his head. He froze, looking straight into Aziraphale's eyes, and then slid off the bed just as leisurely, flicking the tip of his tail on Aziraphale’s wrist.</p><p>Aziraphale rose after him, pressing his hands to his chest. He was vaguely annoyed, but could not understand why, so he simply asked:<br/>“Are you feeling better?”</p><p>
  <i>“I am well. Why are you still here? You found out what you wanted. The children are not eaten, the dragon is a hoax. Why didn't you go back to your friends in shining armour?”</i>
</p><p>“Because you are quite obviously not well, Crowley!” Aziraphale didn't want to raise his voice, but the annoyance turned to anger: four and a half thousand years old, and the stubborn demon thinks he will just walk away, leaving him in trouble like that. Thinks that he will prefer him to the company of people who will never really know him, never understand. Yes, he and Crowley were enemies, but enemies who, Aziraphale hoped, could be what they really are in each other’s company, which is far more than he ever got from other angels. He knew that among the demons Crowley, too, had to play his part relentlessly; one that could be dismissed when they were together.</p><p>They never talked about it. But Aziraphale thought Crowley understood. Proof to the contrary hurt him more than he could have expected.</p><p>
  <i>“Look.”</i>
</p><p>Crowley stretched up, closed his eyes, and opened them already in human form. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead; he wiped them off with his hand, along with an expression on his face that was strangely reminiscent of despair.</p><p>“I can turn back faster than before! You needn't coddle me; I have survived somehow all these years.”</p><p>Aziraphale stepped closer. Once, righteous anger had been his weapon to incinerate enemies of God. Now he could feel his own hurt burning him, bitterness seething in his throat, forcing the wrong words out of him.</p><p>“Yes, you have. A few miles away from me without ever making yourself known,” Aziraphale inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, trying to be reasonable. Someone has to. “How long will you last in this guise? How long before you fall asleep and turn into a snake? What if, while you sleep, people get in here and kill you?”</p><p>Aziraphale covered the last step that separated them and grabbed Crowley by the forearms. He looked directly into yellow unblinking eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in response to the unexpected touch.</p><p>“You know you are vulnerable the way you are now. What if it is not a knight, but an archangel, or some fool with holy water? Crowley, the people have heard that something is going on at the lake. They are scared, and they would not leave you alone. And it might not just end in discorporation and a return to hell. You could end up dead!”</p><p>Crowley stepped back, twisting deftly out of his grasp. He drew his spectacles from the folds of the tunic and pushed them on hastily, as if pulling down a curtain. Then he shrugged.</p><p>“So?”</p><p>Aziraphale lowered his hands, which were still outstretched in Crowley’s direction. It was hard to know what was stronger: the shock of the touch — they had never touched each other, another unspoken pact the importance of which he did not doubt and the reason for which he did not question — the fact that he himself had broken the rule, or Crowley's answer.</p><p>“What?” whispered Aziraphale.</p><p>“Why not? Let people or angels find me here: isn't that what you're supposed to do with monsters?”</p><p>“How can you say that?” Aziraphale felt moisture in his eyes; normally he was not embarrassed by his own softness, but now he tried to order his treacherous body to cease this, and failed.</p><p>“Why would you care?” Crowley's lips pressed into a thin thread. Without waiting for an answer, he continued: “Another enemy defeated, less work for you.”</p><p>“Of course I care!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He had enough. “Crowley, we have known each other so long, how can you not understand? You make the world a better place. Yes, we are enemies, but you are the only one who knows me, talks to me; and hopefully I can say I know you,” he took a breath. His voice trembled. “Please, Crowley. I just don't want to lose you.”</p><p>He spoke these words, perhaps the truest ever to come from his lips, plucked from the very bottom of his being, with a feeling that he, the careful, always cautious angel, had never had before, and which now filled him completely, squeezed him in a vice and at the same time released, tore a hole in his chest as if he was made of the thin paper used in the East. And he suddenly understood what it was like to want something for himself; not the simple joys of being, but something very important. And he became frightened. As he uttered these words, Crowley's face changed. But the dark glasses hid his eyes and made it impossible to understand what his lips, parted in astonishment, really wanted to say.</p><p>But then Crowley pulled himself together again, as if to strike. It was almost not imperceptible: his back slightly more straight, his body position just barely changed. Slowly, as if forcing himself, but very clearly, he spoke:<br/>“Then why did you reject me?”</p><p>“What?” Aziraphale furrowed his brow in confusion.</p><p>“When I offered to help each other. To do something not for Hell, not for Heaven. For us. You said that was out of the question. We have known each other for more than four thousand years, angel. But you're not ready to make a single step towards me. And after that, you say I mean something to you?” He laughed mirthlessly. “How could I, I'm a demon.”</p><p>Aziraphale remembered his encounter with the Black Knight as if it had happened yesterday. But it seemed that in Crowley’s eyes it looked very different. Aziraphale felt as if he was standing on the edge of a high wall, and a step forward would lead to an abyss, at the depths of which was the unknown, but a step back was much, much worse. Because Crowley wouldn't be there. Aziraphale filled his chest with air, intending to answer: to explain, to reach out, to say more from the stream that opened up inside, like an underground river that had come to the surface. Not yet discerning for himself what those words might be, what was that feeling that had always been there, but dared not give itself a name.</p><p>“Crowley, I…”</p><p>He could not finish. One swift movement and Crowley was too close, covering Aziraphale’s lips with fingers pressed against them.</p><p>Aziraphale would have expected Crowley's skin to be as cold as a snake's, but his fingers were warm, the kind of warmth that feels light but burns and takes the breath away.</p><p>“Shh,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale did not immediately realize it was a request for silence. Thoughts somewhat muddled, heat rushed to his cheeks.</p><p>Crowley tilted his head, listening, and added quietly:<br/>“Someone is here”</p><p>***</p><p>It had snowed overnight. The dark green of the ivy peeked out from the loose white blanket in some places. The sun's stingy rays, reflecting off it and the ice-capped water, turned the lake shore into a fairy land, full of light and new hope. The knights squinted their eyes through the narrow slits of their helmets, shifting from foot to foot. The creak of snow beneath their feet, the snorting of horses left behind, and the muffled clang of armor were the only sounds for miles around.</p><p>There were many of them, a small army led by King Arthur and his entourage: sir Gawain, Lancelot, Bedivere and Kay. Shields on their forearms, bare swords and spears looking skyward. They have defeated enemy armies, outlaws and monsters, their cause always righteous. Aziraphale had spent only two days outside their circle, but now looked at them and saw how similar they were to the Heavenly Army — the way it had been in Aziraphale's memories of the early days of the universe, memories that he knew full well had nothing to do with reality. Shoulder to shoulder and there for each other come what may, with one purpose, one faith, one brotherhood. Aziraphale liked being among the Knights of the Round Table because they reminded him of something he had never had, but which he always yearned for, as if it was lost. Sometimes, he even managed to feel as one of them for a little while. The truth, which he, as a prudent angel, tried not to think about, was that that had never happened to him in Heaven. And then there was Earth, the Garden of Eden, and the first rain. Accustomed to being constantly aware of his distance from other angels, to attempt to think like them, speak like them, serve like them, and fail at it, catching scornful glances at himself, Aziraphale felt complete for the first time; as if something inside had quietly fallen into place, despite his worries about the first people and the rightness of his own actions. It was as if Aziraphale could not be fully Aziraphale until Crowley spoke to him.</p><p>It must mean something, but Aziraphale had perfected his skill of not thinking what he shouldn't. He considered it his duty. The foundation of his world. Unlike Eve, he was capable of not plucking the fruit from the forbidden tree.</p><p>After all, there was enough to sustain him. A look, a long conversation, a shared cup of wine, a fleeting touch of sleeves. Presence: on the same bench, in the same polis, on the same continent, on the same planet.</p><p>An army so similar to Heavenly host stood before the entrance to the cave to take this away from him.</p><p>But sir Aziraphale was one of them. An associate, a brother; the danger lay only in their ignorance.</p><p>“Stay inside, Crowley. These men know me, I will talk to them, and they will go away.”</p><p><i>“They've come for me, angel,”</i> Crowley hissed. Aziraphale didn't notice the moment he turned back into a snake. <i>“I won't hide.”</i></p><p>Aziraphale smoothed his tunic and sighed irritably:<br/>“No time to argue with you, you stubborn serpent.”</p><p>He stepped through the green curtain into the light and looked around the crowd. He tried to focus on it, tried not to feel Crowley's presence nearby, too distracting, habitually drawing in all his ability to perceive the world. Like the first bright star in an ink-black sky. At that moment, it was dangerous.</p><p>“Aziraphale!” Lancelot's cry rang out. “You are alive!”</p><p>“Of course I am, dear boy.”</p><p>“We haven't heard from you, we thought we had sent you to your death,” said Gawain with clear agitation.</p><p>“I am quite all right, and I am sorry to have worried you. Really, there is no reason...”</p><p>“What happened, sir Aziraphale?” King Arthur's voice was low, but clear and solemn. “Where is your armour and your weapon?”</p><p>“Left it somewhere.” Aziraphale waved his hand vaguely; the conversation was too similar to another, millennia ago.</p><p>“What about the dragon, sir Aziraphale?” Bedivere asked impatiently. Aziraphale had not seen him and sir Kay for months; at Arthur's request, the knights were helping his relative in the neighbouring lands. Aziraphale recalled something about a giant and a beautiful lady. In Bedivere's hand instead of a sword was now a spear, apparently taken by him in battle as a trophy.</p><p>“The dragon is all right, too,” Aziraphale stopped short as he saw the knights' eyes widen in surprise and a whisper of concern spread through the ranks. He raised his palms in a reassuring gesture. “He would not give anyone trouble, I will take care of it.”</p><p>“Have you lost your mind?”</p><p>“You didn't kill the creature?”</p><p>“What about the kids?”</p><p>“The children are alive and well, and quite happy,” Aziraphale had to raise his voice to cut through the commotion. He was beginning to think that the usual persuasion wouldn't work, and he would have to use his angelic powers, and he didn't like it. “Look, there's no need for violence.”</p><p>Bedivere and Kay moved swiftly towards him. Kay's hand gripped his forearm; glancing at Bedivere’s face, Aziraphale realised that the only thing keeping him from doing something as egregious as that was the lack of a second hand. With the humility of someone who had many times witnessed natural disasters and very insignificant human acts that led to destruction, and could recognize the moment when it was too late to change anything, Aziraphale closed his eyes. The back of his head tingled, as if before a thunderstorm. A low growl arose behind him, slowly increasing in volume.</p><p>The knights jumped back, staring at some point just above his head. Their helmets hid their faces, but there was terror in their eyes. Aziraphale decided not to look back and spoke softly:<br/>“My dear, that is not necessary at all. We were just talking.”</p><p>“Sir Aziraphale, run!” shouted Gawain.</p><p>“I see no reason to do so,” Aziraphale replied dryly.</p><p>His shadow on the snow lengthened and took on a bizarre shape. He sighed, feeling movement behind him. Crowley, like a true dragon, crawled out of the cave with dignity and stopped to his left.</p><p>Aziraphale squinted and saw that Crowley had merely made himself bigger and added the appearance of wings, paws, and a large muzzle with menacing fangs to his serpent body. Even as he did so, he managed to remain graceful; the sunlight slid across his black scales and sparked across the red stripe that still ran from his chin to his belly.</p><p>Aziraphale got distracted for only a moment, but it was enough for Bedivere to lunge forward with a war cry and plunge his spear into the serpent's side.</p><p>Time slowed; between inhale and exhale, between the ringing silence and the cry of anger and pain, between the whiteness underfoot and the spill of red that colored it — an eternity passed.</p><p>Petrified, Aziraphale watched the drops of blood splash down as the knight jumped back, pulling out his spear. This was not supposed to happen. An ordinary man couldn't get that close to Crowley, much less with him around. Couldn't hurt him, couldn't...</p><p>The dragon fell to the ground, shrinking into himself around the wound. His savage grimace and bared teeth made the knights recoil — all but Bedivere:<br/>“Sir Aziraphale, get out of my way, I'll finish him off! This weapon always hits its target and wounds with the force of nine lances. He cannot escape!”</p><p>Time stirred and moved on its usual course. Crowley and Aziraphale's eyes met; before Aziraphale could understand what was hidden beneath the gold blazing with pain, the serpent quickly turned away, as if separating himself from Aziraphale.</p><p>But Aziraphale had no intention of leaving him alone. He stepped closer, standing between Crowley and the knights, and hoped that this would be enough of an answer. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm. Such calmness could be found in the sound of a lion's roar before the cornered prey turns from a living creature into food.</p><p>“You will do no such thing.”</p><p>Aziraphale liked to be sensitive and soft. When he looked at people, he most often felt joy and love, something similar to what the best of their kind felt for their dogs or horses. Love was in his angelic nature, and he embraced this part of himself as a cozy chair or a fine dinner — with enthusiasm. It helped him to stand his ground more firmly, to feel at his place among people. He wanted to look harmless and didn't mind at all when he was underestimated because of it.</p><p>But still, that was only a part of him.</p><p>He bore the rank of the Principality and was a warrior. The Almighty had entrusted him with the flaming sword and placed him at the Eastern Gate of Eden. In spite of the events that followed, such a responsibility was not given for nothing.</p><p>There was no need to show his angelic form to the people and blind them — too much paperwork and unnecessary misery. But the anger, the fear for Crowley, and the all-consuming urge to protect brought the truth of him a little closer to the surface. He could feel the flames flaring around him, wrapping around his forearms, flowing into his palms.</p><p>Bedivere's hand loosened, the spear falling on the snow. The knights behind him fell to their knees and bowed their heads.</p><p>Aziraphale stood before them, in a simple white tunic, clothed in light, as in the thousand stories they had been told as children, had taken in with bread and air, and would never ever doubt. Behind him a dragon was lying still. None of the knights had ever met a saint before, but each of them knew what they looked like.</p><p>“I will stay in this cave so that you may live in peace, without fear of the dragon. But you will never come here with weapons again, or else beware of God's wrath,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Now get up and go. Bedivere, take your spear and next time use it wisely.”</p><p>The knights, without a word, hurried away. Only Arthur and Lancelot hesitated one last time, looking at Aziraphale. The angel nodded to them, and they bowed their heads briefly in response before joining the others.</p><p>As soon as people had moved far enough away not to see it, Aziraphale rushed back to where the serpent lay in the red stained snow. He stretched out his palms, but suddenly recollected when Crowley twitched from the bright light. Before trying to touch him again, Aziraphale restrained the flame — and dropped to his knees.</p><p>The serpent was breathing fast, unmoving. Aziraphale ran his fingers gently over the scales and frowned.<br/>“That damned spear was blessed. I'm not able to heal the wound completely, but I'll do what I can.”</p><p><i>“Angel, you could get in trouble for this,”</i> a voice murmured in his head.</p><p>“Shut up and don't even think about it.”</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to stop the bleeding. The composure he needed to get rid of the knights left him with them, and he could feel his lashes becoming wet, his palms trembling over Crowley's body. Only when one has the carelessness to wish for something for oneself and acknowledge it in one's heart, can one know true fear. In that moment, a lot became clearer to him about humans. He learned what suffering God had measured out for them. Freedom of choice becomes a curse when no choice is possible.</p><p>“Don't leave me,” he whispered.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What.”</p><p>Crowley's strangled voice was the first sound that broke the long silence. Aziraphale silently thanked God without realising what he was doing, then hesitated, doubting whether it was appropriate, and finally brushed the thought aside; it was more important to hurry to the bed, where the waking demon lay among the furs.</p><p>Aziraphale was there in time to gently but firmly press Crowley’s shoulders against the featherbed and keep him from rising. Something happened to Aziraphale’s breathing from the touch, not for the first time; his palms tingled, the sensation rising up his arms, gathering in his chest and spreading through his body, as if a current was connecting them, flowing from one to the other where they touched. But right now Aziraphale was more concerned that Crowley was too hot, almost painfully so, worse than people burning with fever. And though bodies of unearthly beings were tougher than human ones, they still abided by the same laws.</p><p>“What?” Crowley repeated much louder. With horror in wide open eyes, he looked first at Aziraphale, who was leaning over him, then his eyes slanted downward. “Aziraphale, how did I end up in bed, and why am I half naked?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed.</p><p>“Please lie still and do not try to get up. You have been wounded with a blessed spear, and I could not heal the wound, I could barely stop the bleeding. I don't know if my efforts will work if you will be intent on getting up!” as soon he was sure that Crowley had calmed a bit, he removed his hands and knelt down beside him. “I do apologise, but you passed out, and I had to carry you inside. And then you transformed, but I had to examine the wound and try to do something about it.”</p><p>It wasn't easy to pick up and carry a nine foot snake, and to do so without doing more damage to his wound. Aziraphale hoped that Crowley would never know what that moment looked like. And he tried to forget himself, how hesitantly, as if doing something untoward, he took off Crowley’s black tunic afterward, surprisingly soft to the touch. </p><p>How, even in fear for Crowley, he involuntarily held his gaze to the pale skin with constellations of freckles, so humanly vulnerable next to the open wound. He drew water from the lake and carefully rinsed off all the blood and dirt, trying to add healing power to his touch; to no avail. He could only console himself with the possibility that without his attention things would be even worse.</p><p>Crowley shuddered, and then hissed in pain.<br/>
“I can't heal myself.”</p><p>Aziraphale put a hand on his forearm. Crowley's eyes darted to him like a flash of lightning and stopped. The moment lingered. Crowley licked his lips, and Aziraphale followed the movement unconsciously. Perhaps he needs a drink of water?</p><p>“I think,” Crowley said, “I'm burning.”</p><p>And, after a brief hesitation:<br/>
“This dream would have been better without the hole in my chest.”</p><p>“You are not asleep, you are wounded with a blessed weapon.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, angel,” something subtly changed in the very air between them, like when a thunderstorm gathers somewhere in the distance on a clear day. Crowley dropped his gaze to where Aziraphale's palm still clutched his hand, and then slowly, with half-closed eyelids, traced the invisible line to Aziraphale’s chest and up, to his neck, which anxiously quivered — and finally looked again into Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale had never noticed Crowley looking at him like that before; there were times when Crowley’s gaze was felt by a tingle on the back of his neck, a warmth on his cheeks — but never like this, like the smooth movement of snake rings before it devours you and the promise that you will like being its prey. Crowley smiled crookedly. “But you wouldn't touch me like that in real life. Kiss to make it better?”</p><p>“Crowley!” Aziraphale exhaled indignantly, taking his hand away. He pulled at the collar of his tunic, which was suddenly too tight and hot. “Are you trying to tempt me?”</p><p>“Does it look like temptation to you?” Crowley continued to smile; so unarmed, without the usual wariness, that Aziraphale felt a sharp, painful regret at having to ruin the moment. But this was not real.</p><p>“It looks like you have a fever and don't know what you are doing,” he said dryly.</p><p>Crowley frowned in confusion, listening to something inside himself. Then he looked at Aziraphale again, in a different way, eyes slightly widened with surprise.<br/>
“Damn it,” he cursed softly, and leaned back on the featherbed. “I really wasn't sleeping. I'm sorry, angel.”</p><p>“It's all right. You are sick,” Aziraphale straightened invisible creases of his sleeve. “Look, Crowley. We can't help you with miracles, and your body is acting human with the wound. I don't like this fever. I think you need a human cure.”</p><p>“What do you suggest?”</p><p>“That Greek, Hippocrates, once showed me how to apply compresses of healing herbs and bark. Apparently, it works.”</p><p>Crowley snorted mockingly:<br/>
“It's winter, where are you going to find herbs?”</p><p>“Your druids, my dear. Are they not supposed to know about such things? There must be a healer among them who collects herbs to cure his neighbors. You must tell me how to find them.”</p><p>***</p><p>The path to the houses where the druids lived hidden in the woods was even more confusing than to the children's hut. Crowley explained that they had been forced into hiding for generations. The villagers knew of them: the druids exchanged medicine for food and occasionally took in young men and women who felt serving nature as their calling. The tacit agreement worked: no one wanted to be left without help if trouble came, and so they would not give druids up to the Romans or the king's men. But the road to their dwelling was kept secret. Aziraphale, wading through ravines and wind-felled trees, dodging whipping branches, began to suspect that the forest itself was protecting the druids from uninvited guests.</p><p>There was not even a clearing around the houses. They blended into the trees, remaining as much a part of the forest as anything else within it, small and very, very ancient. Aziraphale went up to the unreliable-looking but surprisingly sturdy porch, and knocked.</p><p>The door swung open and the blade of a ritual dagger pressed to his throat. Aziraphale raised his hands and smiled wryly:<br/>
“Good evening. I mean you no harm.”</p><p>The smile had no effect on the girl, who only gripped the hilt of her weapon tighter. She barely reached Aziraphale's chest and was so thin she looked as if a strong gust of wind might knock her over — until his gaze fell on her face. There was so much determination and stubbornness in it that it made Aziraphale uneasy. Evidently she was not afraid to use a dagger. The masculine dress and coarsely cropped hair accentuated the impression.</p><p>“Let him in, Gwendolyn” a woman's quiet voice called from across the room.</p><p>The girl reluctantly lowered her dagger and stepped aside, nodding glumly. Aziraphale felt that the gesture was less an invitation and more a threat. He adjusted the collar of his tunic.<br/>
“Thank you, young lady.”</p><p>Inside, the house was exactly what people usually imagine a witch's lair to be. Bunches of dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling and walls, and a large table held dishes and knives that had never seen any food. A small cauldron simmered on the fire, spreading the fresh, spicy aroma of an herbal concoction that soothed anxiety. Aziraphale took a deep breath and smiled.</p><p>There were two others in the room. The woman who had stopped Gwendolyn was adding something to the cauldron, and Aziraphale could only see her slender back, with two dark braids running down to her waist. She wore a simple dress, but the way she moved betrayed a noble birth and a habit of command. On a bench against the wall, almost hidden by the shadows, sat a young man, pressing a cloth to his thigh; a dark stain spread over it, and he was breathing with difficulty.</p><p>Aziraphale grimaced and wiggled his fingers imperceptibly. After all, he had been sent to help people; healing miracles should not raise questions. The young man froze. His face was flushed with relief and deep amazement.</p><p>“Morgan,” he called.</p><p>“I know,” she set the vial down on the table, wiped her hands, and then turned around.</p><p>She didn't look very young by human standards, perhaps the same age as Aziraphale. Age suited her. Character and experience had shaped her beauty into something far more complex, multifaceted, and memorable at first sight; in the lines around her lips and eyes hid a thousand stories and just as many promises of the future.</p><p>“The children say their patron has a friend. In the nearest village there is only talk of the saint who defeated the dragon they feared so much. Who are you?” Morgan looked at Aziraphale curiously.</p><p>“A friend,” Aziraphale answered.</p><p>“A friend whose aura shines stronger than the sun. As does his,” she smiled. “He the first, you the second. What a blessed time we live in. Welcome to our humble abode, Guardian.”</p><p>Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise:<br/>
“My name is Aziraphale.”</p><p>“You keep your secrets, we keep ours,” she shrugged. “But I know that one day you will know what I was talking about.”</p><p>“Morgan, that name... He is one of the Knights of the Round Table,” the boy said.</p><p>Morgan nodded:<br/>
“It is so like my brother not to notice what is right under his nose. Don't worry, Owen. You're not here on his errand, are you?” she added, turning to Aziraphale.</p><p>“No, I have come to ask for help. What happened to him?” He pointed to the boy.</p><p>“Nothing, thanks to you.”</p><p>Aziraphale was confused. The mortals shouldn't have noticed his intervention so easily. But it seemed he had to take note that these people were not so simple.</p><p>“Met a band of knights on the road,” Owen added. “This is a warning for all of us. And they promised to come back to finish us off.”</p><p>“The Knights of the Round Table attacked you?” Aziraphale asked indignantly.</p><p>“My brother and his army can not accept that there is a force that refuses to participate in their war,” Morgan said. “They believe that by not helping them we are helping our enemies.”</p><p>“Why do you refuse? They are your people, after all.”</p><p>“Sometimes, Guardian,” she walked slowly around him, eyeing him with interest. “There are more than just two sides. The war itself is destruction. And we serve creation. Life. This land. Albion is far more than King Arthur's court. We know what it needs to flourish. It mixes otherness into its blood and that is its destiny and its strength.” She paused and smiled slyly. “That is why you are connected to it, too. Both of you.”</p><p>“I can not say that I understand all that you say, but you must meet with Arthur,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I have not lived so long among his knights for them to kill innocents. I could persuade him to listen to you. Moreover, he does not know yet that he is going against his own sister. He truly misses you.”</p><p>A shadow passed across Morgan's face.<br/>
“Well, if you can persuade him, I won't refuse to see him. But you said you came for help. What can I do for you?”</p><p>“I was hoping that you could give me the herbs that heal wounds.”</p><p>“Gwendolyn,” Morgana called out, and turned back to Aziraphale. “How severe is the wound?”</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head.<br/>
“Fever, confusing reality and sleep. I'm afraid it is rather bad.”</p><p>Gwendolyn silently removed several bundles from the wall and placed them on the table. Over the course of his conversation with Morgan, she stopped looking at Aziraphale as at an enemy.</p><p>While Morgan mixed the herbs, crushed them in a mortar and poured water over them, Gwendolyn found some clean cloth cuttings somewhere and handed them to Aziraphale.</p><p>“Thank you, dear” he looked questioningly at her. She looked away, suddenly shy.</p><p>“She is mute,” Morgan handed him a bowl full of a thick, dark green slurry. “It can be applied directly to the wound and a cloth bandage is placed over it. Rinse in the morning and repeat again. Let nature heal this wound.”</p><p>***</p><p>Crowley turned into a snake again. Aziraphale thought there was some pattern in his changes, but he could not catch the right thought to finally solve this mystery. Lowering himself onto the bed, he gently pulled the sleeping Serpent into his lap to apply the salve.</p><p>Crowley opened his eyes.<br/>
<i>“You're back,”</i> his voice murmured.</p><p>Aziraphale had become so accustomed to the sensation of mental conversation over the days that Crowley's presence in his head now seemed natural. He scooped up some ointment and, trying to touch the inflamed skin as little as possible, applied it to the wound. The Serpent hissed quietly in pain but did not twitch.</p><p>“Your friends were attacked by knights, too,” Aziraphale said briefly as he covered the wound with the bandage.</p><p><i>“They are not my friends,”</i> Crowley said indifferently. <i>“Why do you meddle in affairs of humans? They're always at war with each other.”</i></p><p>“I have wasted too much time on these people,” Aziraphale answered stubbornly. “Besides, I have a feeling that this is important.”</p><p>
  <i>“Important to whom? You didn't take orders from Heaven, did you?”</i>
</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated. He looked at the Serpent lying on his lap. And yet he answered not what he truly thought:<br/>
“To me.”</p><p>
  <i>“Hmmm. You can put me back. For some reason it's hard to move in this body right now. I probably should say thank you?”</i>
</p><p>“Better not,” Aziraphale smiled briefly. “And you can stay here. You'll be warmer this way.”</p><p><i>“Aziraphale,”</i> Crowley said quietly. Aziraphale waited, not daring to frighten away what he had to say. <i>“I have to ask. You could have gone with the knights, why did you take my side?”</i></p><p>Even silently, there was despair in Crowley’s voice, cracking the question in two. Aziraphale closed his eyes; he couldn't look at Crowley now, no matter what form he was in. For an honest answer was something that should never be said. And at the same time it was as necessary as is air for all living things. Aziraphale felt unprepared to take the first breath; having watched over humans for so long, he knew that being alive was very painful. Human life, at least, is always short; angels have to deal with eternity.</p><p>“I won't let anything bad happen to you, Crowley. You must understand that.”</p><p>
  <i>“With your permission, I don't understand at all, angel.”</i>
</p><p>“You need to rest so your wound can heal. I promise we will talk about it when you are better.”</p><p>
  <i>“Don't break your word.”</i>
</p><p>“I won't.”</p><p>The ease with which Crowley surrendered only told Aziraphale of the seriousness of his wound, of the pain and exhaustion he had to deal with. Crowley never retreated so quickly; he asked uncomfortable questions and found cracks in Aziraphale's confidence; like a fox smelling prey in the snow, he snatched a single doubt with a precise throw, laid it at the angel's feet, and only then stepped aside. It was unbearable; it made Aziraphale a little more free. But all Aziraphale could think about now was how strange it was to want to take someone else's suffering; how much harder it was to see it in another than to bear it himself. Crowley's wound reflected in him like blinding sunlight on the surface of water, and scattered in a thousand shards. And yet, if God in Her mercy offered him deliverance from this torment, he would’ve never accepted it.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Only in the morning did Aziraphale allow himself to close his eyes, tired of looking through  the half-light to see if Crowley was sleeping peacefully. There were no stars in the cave that night, only blue lights flickering across the ceiling and walls. Looking at the Serpent curled on his chest, Aziraphale pondered the nature of fear and how he could look at Crowley in any form indefinitely; fall asleep and wake next to him, warm the serpent's body or listen to his human heartbeat. One was inextricably linked to the other: he had come so close to the possibility of losing Crowley that he could no longer avoid seeing the truth that, over the millennia in the darkness at the edges of his world, where he had so carelessly allowed himself not to look, had grown too deep and become as much a part of him as his own name. And now to gaze into it was like gazing into the sun, burning out all that had gone before to give place to the new; but there, among the constellations and the petricor smelling earth, among all the shades of sky and deep marshes, fear was already prowling. Aziraphale knew: from now on, he would walk hand in hand with it. Because fear is the underside of every word and every look, when you have no right to them, and the price of a mistake will not be paid by you. </p><p>Angels do not dream, but if you live among humans for so many years, you unwittingly adopt their habits. Perhaps Aziraphale had learnt too much from them. As he slept, his human heart overflowed, collapsing the barriers to another level of existence, one where his wings, his true form, were always tucked away from view. Something broke its banks and flooded it whole, only to sprout like an apple seed from the very centre, branching out and gripping it into a cocoon. Every breath was echoed in a trembling of the leaves and pain, the name for which he knew even in his dreams; the tree was reaching out for the sun, needing the sun, but unable to feel it. This need, this imperfection, was life itself. Like the rib taken from Adam, or the wound inflicted on Christ by the Roman; every beginning requires a sacrifice that is offered with joy, and now he was ready to ask to be allowed to make it. But it was no longer necessary. His blood had been spilt back then, on the ground of the Garden of Eden; he just did not notice.</p><p>He woke up with a wet face and a sense of loss — as if reaching the surface. He was warm, the heat emanating from outside and from himself at the same time, like an echo of a dream he wanted to hold on to. A heaviness pressed down on his body, heavier than in the days past, sheltering him from the world so securely that he didn't worry about anything, no matter how unusual it was of him. A moist warmth tickled the hollow above his collarbone, appearing and fading, and everything in the world was right, in its place. </p><p>Despite the vague longing, such peace enveloped him that Aziraphale sank back into slumber. Time scattered in sparks around him and smoldered, flaring somewhere on the edges of consciousness, until it reassembled at the touch on his forearm, until it went back on its course with the vanishing of a pleasant heaviness, until he opened his eyes, hearing a faltering breath above him. </p><p>He got lost in the molten gold that completely filled Crowley's eyes. Reality returned with a sweep: only now did Aziraphale realize that everything he had felt up to now was Crowley. The demon had changed his appearance while they were sleeping and awakened sprawled on Aziraphale, as he had fallen asleep being a serpent. Now he was leaning over Aziraphale. His face was so close that Aziraphale could feel his breath on his cheek; their legs were intertwined, and Crowley was in no hurry to escape. Aziraphale waited for this, as if it were his last chance to salvation, even though he knew it was too late. </p><p>The moment they met at the wall of the Garden of Eden, it was already too late, but Aziraphale held back. God knows, he tried to remain a good angel and not be tempted. Not to think, not to speak, even to himself. If what was between them could be explained so simply, if good and evil had anything to do with it, he would not be afraid. But fingers, which gently touched his cheeks to wipe away the moisture, trembled faintly; Crowley's lips parted, as if the words were frozen on them, barely able to be born. And there was so much despair and hope in his eyes, so many years lived not knowing the truth, that Aziraphale's palms clutched at Crowley’s waist, where they lay so awkwardly, like something separate from him, and he exhaled softly:<br/>
“Crowley…”</p><p>“Angel,” Crowley's voice trailed off, and in that moment Aziraphale finally realized that he could no longer hide from him how he felt, no matter what happened afterward. “Please, if you even a little…”</p><p>Aziraphale moved forward, closing the small distance between them, and kissed him.<br/>
So difficult and so simple — the world around them jerked on its axis and disappeared, falling somewhere down, leaving only warmth, palms on the cheeks, an exhale interrupted by surprise, an unspoken plea. Or it was not the world that was falling, only them, but together, and not down, but up, as Crowley's lips opened to meet Aziraphale’s, surprisingly soft, fingers buried in his hair, and now Aziraphale could not escape, deny, justify, but he did not need to. Where else would he be, where else would he hide from this heat when it was as much a part of him as his wings, as the breath of God that had made them alive before the beginning of time; one for them both, as now, as always. </p><p>Crowley pulled away first — gently, slowly. If one could take one's heart out of one's chest, that was how it would be done, for fear of crushing the fragile walls, of disturbing the secret trembling. He pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s, breathing heavily. Aziraphale wanted to see Crowley’s eyes again, to feel the touch of his lips, but could only clench and unclench his hands behind his back, amazed at the significance of this. Aziraphale had never done anything more important or frightening in all his existence, and nothing was so inevitable. Ineffable. How is it possible to feel such humility and, at the same time, such audacity to break the rules? </p><p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley said quietly. The name fell from his lips like another kiss, slid softly down Aziraphale's cheek, and froze in the corner of his mouth — an invisible petal of a blossoming tree. </p><p>“You asked why I didn't leave,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley rose to look him in the eye, frowning with helplessness that was so uncharacteristic of him and entered Aziraphale's heart like a knife. A blush burned brightly on Crowley’s pale face. “Because you are more important to me than anything else in the world. On Earth and in Heaven.”</p><p>“Don't say what you don't fully believe, angel,” Crowley said chokingly. The words were harsh but pleading; Aziraphale understood. “I know how important Heaven is to you. As it should be.”</p><p>Aziraphale raised his hand and touched Crowley’s cheek. Crowley slightly turned his face and pushed against it, as if they were created as one, and closed his eyes. But the mournful crease between his eyebrows didn't smooth out, it only deepened.</p><p>“I don’t have free will. Nor do you, my dear. I would never go against what is right. But I know that love can not be wrong, and it is more important than good and evil. Mankind fell because of love, and was saved by it. We are not human, so I have to do not what I want, to say not what I think, but don't doubt it: it is because you are important to me, not the other way around.”</p><p>“Love?” Crowley asked, at a loss. </p><p>“I love you. It took me a long time to realize and admit it, but I don't think it is fair to deny or hide my feelings from you any longer.“</p><p>“But I'm a demon, how can you…” Crowley pulled away abruptly and sat down next to him, no longer touching Aziraphale. He shrugged shakily, as if he'd only just noticed he was nude waist-up and fashioned a tunic over himself. </p><p>“I know you,” Aziraphale interrupted gently.</p><p>“Angel. Don't say such things. I've watched you for so many years, and couldn't think of a single reason to get closer to you. And when I got tired of waiting and suggested we choose each other, you refused. I know what your rejection tastes like. Worse than sulphur and ash at the bottom of the deepest lake in Hell. I went back to my beastly form, as I did immediately after the War, because I had no hope left.”</p><p>“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale stood up, wanting to be closer to him, “I was never as scared as I was then, twelve years ago. You offered to break the rules. If we got caught... Heaven is merciful, nothing would happen to me. But what would happen to you, can you imagine? That's the only thing I could think of: what they would do to you. I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to lose you. I'll do everything in my power to keep that from happening. No matter how much it hurts.”</p><p>Crowley hid his face in his palms and let out an indistinct exclamation. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, squeezed it, and dropped his hands down. The red strands scattered in disarray over his shoulders.</p><p>“Angel. You say you love me, and you reject me because you do? What kind of twisted logic is that? No,” he sprang to his feet and paced the cave. “No, no, I refuse to accept it. I never thought it possible. You. Me. You are,” he said, and swung his hand smoothly in front of himself. “And I,” he grimaced contemptuously. “But now you're giving me this knowledge, turning my world upside down, kissing me, and expecting me to — what? To pretend that nothing has changed?”</p><p>Aziraphale got up and walked over to Crowley. He had to try his best to catch a moment when Crowley paused briefly in swinging his arms around and took him by the elbows. Aziraphale squeezed his palms, trying to stop the endless movement and catch the flickering, flame-like look in Crowley’s eyes. </p><p>“Crowley. Crowley! You need to stop, you have been wounded.”</p><p>Crowley froze for a moment, then ran his hand under his tunic, ripped off the bandage, and tossed it aside, showing it to Aziraphale.</p><p>“You healed me, and I'm perfectly fine.”</p><p>“Let me see, dear. Your wound looked very serious,” Aziraphale let go of his arms, but gently stepped forward, intending to lift the dark cloth. Crowley recoiled — not in a smooth, serpentine motion, but abruptly, as if he were unsure which way to go. And then he assumed a nonchalant pose, as if nothing had happened.</p><p>“Want to undress me already, Aziraphale?” His voice lowered, with a dangerous undertone. The corner of his lips lifted in a smirk that would have been convincing had he been wearing glasses now, and if Aziraphale couldn't see his eyes. They told a very different story; how often, Aziraphale thought, how many times in all this time I'd taken his harsh words at face value, that contemptuous curve of his lips as the line between us, his silence as a sign that my time was up. We have learnt to hide, like any living creature whose life depends on remaining unnoticed. But we hide our vulnerabilities in different ways, and he does not yet know how to understand me the way I have learnt to read him: in the smallest of movements, in the sincerity of his gaze, in the silence between words. And this is what will save us. The way I will hurt him, for which I will never be able to forgive myself; but he will be safe.</p><p>Aloud, Aziraphale said quietly:<br/>
“Yes. Please don't fight it, you made me nervous yesterday,” he looked sadly at Crowley and saw the bravado crumble under his gaze. </p><p>Crowley sighed irritably and pulled his tunic over his head in one motion.<br/>
“Satisfied?”</p><p>Aziraphale wasn't sure how to answer. He expected Crowley to lift his clothes, revealing only as much as necessary to check the wound in his side, and he wasn't prepared for the sight of his exposed body. For the first time, nothing was preventing him from looking, neither worry about Crowley's health, nor his proximity that filled all his senses at once. And he looked, unable to lower his eyes. He could tell himself all he wanted that it was just a body, but it was Crowley’s body. There was as much truth in it as in his true form; over the long years on Earth, the incarnations had become a reflection of their essence. Was it any wonder now how the outline of his shoulders and the hollows above his collarbones made Aziraphale’s breath catch, the strength in his hands, not as obvious as Aziraphale's own, beckoning to test it. How Aziraphale had to restrain himself from touching Crowley’s chest with open palms and running them down to his belly, to the dark path below his waist.</p><p>“Angel,” Crowley called out. All the while, he stared back at Aziraphale with interest. “Enjoying the view?”</p><p>There was only a harmless bite in Crowley’s voice, but Aziraphale felt his cheeks burn with heat: to be caught staring so explicitly! He pretended to adjust the ties of his own clothes, and tried to catch his breath. It seemed that not looking at Crowley would make it easier to calm down, but it was as if thousands of little lightnings had penetrated Aziraphale's skin and were now flowing under it, gathering in whirlpools wherever Crowley’s glance fell. Crowley, of course, had no intention of looking at anything else.</p><p>As slowly as possible, Aziraphale approached him, carefully trying to look only at the area between his ribs where just yesterday the spear wound had gaped. Crowley was right: it had healed completely, leaving only a rough, inflamed scar. Aziraphale touched it gently, and then the skin just below; it was hot, but no longer burning. The danger seemed to have passed, but the mark would remain: it was no ordinary human weapon, after all.</p><p>Aziraphale lifted his head; his fingers lingered on Crowley’s ribs, as if some current inside him drew them toward Crowley. They stood so close that Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s breath on his cheek again. He swallowed nervously and said, looking straight into his eyes, “I can try to take it away. If you want.”</p><p>“Leave it. It's not every day this body can get battle scars. It will be part of my demonic charm,” Crowley's hand suddenly covered Aziraphale's palm, hot and strong. </p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale hesitated, forgetting what he wanted to say, then still managed to squeeze out the most important thing of all. “I expect this is the last time you'll have this opportunity.”</p><p>He could feel Crowley’s heart beating rapidly beneath the palm pressed against his chest. Somehow the simple truth of this sensation, perfectly normal to human bodies, made Aziraphale’s head spin, like something special, secret, vulnerable.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly. The name turned into a hiss on his tongue, and wrapped softly around Aziraphale's shoulders, holding him in place like flowing silk — or dark wings.</p><p>Aziraphale's gaze slid lower, to Crowley's mouth. A moment of silence, two exhalations, a few steps, and his back was pressed against the smooth wall of the cave; blue lights sputtered to the sides from the collision. Crowley's lips covered his. </p><p>There was no wonder and caution in that kiss; it was inevitable, it burned and displaced all thought, it spoke of thousands of years of waiting and longing and wanting to possess and belong in return. It spoke to Aziraphale of the power Crowley had over him, far stronger than any other. Crowley pulled away, captured his lower lip with his teeth, and then attacked again, stifling a cry that was not an objection, but something else entirely. Aziraphale's hands could finally touch, and he stroked his chest, his shoulders, his back mindlessly, reading his body as if blinded. When Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around the back of Crowley’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, it was Crowley's turn to break the silence — with a sound of such undisguised pleasure that Aziraphale's knees nearly buckled, but Crowley caught his wrists and pinned them to the wall, then pressed his whole body so that not even air remained between them. </p><p>Aziraphale didn't know he was capable of feeling this way; it was as if he had turned to flame, and Crowley was giving him a new form, an imprint of himself, all that hardness and almost unbearable warmth. He wanted to laugh with an intoxication of intimacy that was stronger than any wine and made him want even more: to leave his body, to drop it as something unnecessary, to become even closer. But first, to free his wrists and intertwine their fingers, so that it was now unclear who was holding whom, and to press down harder with his hips. He did it without thinking, and he couldn't hold back a choked cry; stars exploded under his closed eyelids, too much, too much, still not enough. </p><p>Crowley broke the kiss and exhaled sharply, clenching his teeth. Pulling away slightly, he released his hand and put it under Aziraphale's tunic, running his fingers gently over his stomach. Below, to the waistband of Aziraphale’s pants; the only warning was the whispered name, and then his palm covered Aziraphale through the fabric, squeezed — Aziraphale pushed forward and opened his eyes. </p><p>Crowley looked utterly wild, desire, longing and pure eagerness written openly on his flushed face. His hair disarranged around his head in a fiery halo. Gone were all traces of the wariness he wore like invisible armour, preventing anyone from getting close. He was an open wound, offered as testimony; he was alive.</p><p>He was beautiful.</p><p>It took Aziraphale’s breath away more than the touch did. Love overwhelmed Aziraphale, for the first time taking its source in the one and only creature in the entire universe and making him more important than Earth, Heaven, Aziraphale himself. </p><p>And Aziraphale thought: this is madness. Without a border that separates us from each other, we can not remain apart. We need this armour to survive. Not yet, not yet, sooner or later they will look and see our betrayal. Sooner or later we will be careless, it is so easy. I will lose him. </p><p>He took a deep breath and because he had never done anything harder than that, and he needed something to hold on to, said:<br/>
“I love you.”</p><p>And then:<br/>
“Stop.”</p><p>And when Crowley froze, blinking like he'd been punched in the face, Aziraphale said  again:</p><p>“We must stop.”</p><p>Crowley withdrew his hands and took a step back. He was breathing heavily, but the usual sharpness had returned to his gaze. And it was directed at Aziraphale.</p><p>“Why?” he said slowly. There was no surprise in his voice. </p><p>Aziraphale ran his hand over his face, feeling it burn, and looked away.</p><p>“Because I don't want it. I don't want a stolen moment. I want to be with you, to watch you wake up, to hold your hand without fear that someone will find out, that they will take you away. And most of all, I want to know that you exist in this world and that nothing is threatening you.”</p><p>“What if a moment is all there is?”</p><p>“It is only time. No matter how much time passes, it would not change what I want. I understand that you might have it differently, don't think I'm assuming for both of us. But if—” Aziraphale took a breath and looked at Crowley again. “I believe there will come a day when we can be together and not be afraid. But to wait for it, we have to be more careful. We have to have faith, Crowley. Because it's too dangerous right now.”</p><p>“How? How can you believe it, angel? What should happen for us to be allowed to just be? Angels and demons don't retire, we are not Roman soldiers!”</p><p>“I believe there is nothing sinful about these feelings. Which means they can not be anything but part of Her plan. God always finds a way.”</p><p>“After all you have seen, after all the senseless cruelty, wars, pain, you still think She's all-good and all-knowing,” Crowley shook his head. “Are you really willing to bet on that?”</p><p>“I'm an angel. There's nothing else for me to do. Couldn’t you believe in it with me?”</p><p>“No. Never again,” Crowley took a few more steps back, never taking his eyes off Aziraphale’s face. “I won't believe in Her, angel. I can only believe in myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to take a walk.”</p><p>He turned abruptly and walked out, leaving Aziraphale alone in the cave, which suddenly seemed very cold.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is astonishing how the most important parts of life could become visible only by the hole they leave behind as they disappear. How something woven into your very essence, inseparable as a breath, can be pulled out, and the void does not collapse in its place, but becomes a path for the stellar wind, a constant reminder of the form it holds. All these years, Crowley had been around, walking the same ground, breathing the same air, looking at the same stars. But it was only now that Aziraphale began to realize that it wasn't enough. Angelic love for all living beings can be content with their presence in the world. What Aziraphale felt for Crowley was of a different nature — hungry, imperfect, demanding to come closer. And Crowley, even when Aziraphale was not yet aware of it, gave him what he needed: meetings, conversations, shared smiles, and the feeling of a warm shoulder beside him while the two of them, always together, stood and watched the flow of human history running by, changing them like stones in a mountain stream. It was only after Crowley's confession that he had been waiting for the chance to kiss him that Aziraphale realized how gentle Crowley had been, how carefully he avoided prompting the realization of something more, but was there for him, and never, never pushed him away. Never said no. Aziraphale took it for granted, noticing it no more than the air he breathed.</p><p>Now he was choking. </p><p>Aziraphale patted the horse's white nose, and it snorted loudly, munching on the apple. Not knowing what to do with himself after Crowley left, Aziraphale came out of the cave to check on the animal. The horse squinted at him indifferently, perfectly content to be allowed to graze in peace for a few days, but still put its side up for petting. Aziraphale scratched it, absentmindedly. He didn't know if Crowley would come back, didn't know what to do, didn’t know what he could’ve done instead. </p><p>He stepped aside and pressed his palm to his chest. Could it be that humans felt this way, too? If they experience love even a fracture of what goes on inside him, no wonder how much they do for its sake. Could angels be so human, or has he become irreversibly different by spending too much time on Earth? All the instructions from above said that this longing, this incompleteness must be the result of the Fall; but he remembered how Adam and Eve had clung to each other in the velvet darkness of Eden, how their eyes shone — long before the knowledge of good and evil. Their hearts, like the hearts of the angels, should have belonged to God, and were not given to Her. But that was not the reason She punished them. Why, in spite of what he told Crowley, was he so afraid? Tears rolled down his cheeks. He sighed, closing his eyes. </p><p>Aziraphale feared not Her wrath, but Her army. His brothers, just like him. At the mere memory of the kiss, he felt it again, the fire that forever changed his essence, made it closer to the truth, like a seal of belonging, but not to them. Crowley's touch burned on his lips, and it seemed impossible that they would not see it, not smell the demon on him, like vultures that picked up the trail. When had he begun to think of angels this way? This chasm, subtle, almost imperceptible, opened a long time ago, from an urge to hide from others the evenings that belonged only to him and Crowley. From the knowledge that they were not capable of understanding. From the desire to keep something only for himself. Now this rift had grown larger, and Aziraphale could not ignore it as before. Aziraphale wanted to turn back time and not to know how to be the one touched by Crowley's hands, not to know how he looked when he stopped restraining himself.</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to stay in that moment, keep it as the greatest treasure of his life, and never, ever forget it.</p><p>He didn't know what would be worse.</p><p>It was foolish to assume that Crowley needed the same things he did. No matter how much they had in common, they spoke different languages. And now there was no telling whether Crowley would want to parse the meanings of his words or hate him for the pain he caused. For it is as if time goes differently for him, faster and more implacable than Aziraphale's time. There is no room for patience, no room for faith. Aziraphale's request must have seemed ridiculous to him.</p><p>Aziraphale had no doubt that his feelings for Crowley were mutual. He saw in his eyes a reflection of the same longing, the same yearning. Always far ahead, Crowley had long ago realized what Aziraphale was only now admitting to himself — how much they meant to each other. But time, Aziraphale decided, would play different games with them as usual. Even if it doesn't happen today, days or years will pass and Crowley will tire. It would be foolish to expect consistency from someone who is always in motion, changing appearance and ideas as he pleases. Isn't that why Crowley wanted everything now? But Aziraphale couldn't take that risk. Not when he knew that for him it was forever. </p><p>To give up something that wasn't even his — how typical.</p><p>The damp air clinged to his body, drawing out what little warmth remained. Mist hid the undergrowth, and the pines that surrounded the meadow seemed to float above the ground. Soon the days should get longer, but for now even the meager light that spilled around would not last long. Aziraphale did not know how long Crowley had been gone. He was worried and miserable. The quiet joy of the last few days had melted away, leaving him devastated, and it seemed that nothing could be the same now.</p><p>Aziraphale walked to the edge of the trees and gazed into the darkness. For a moment he felt as if the forest was looking back at him, attentive and calm, like something that existed out of time. He brushed the silly thought aside and looked away. Just then a branch crunched very close by. Aziraphale flinched, opened his eyes, and slowly exhaled: Crowley was standing in front of him. </p><p>Though Crowley's eyes were hidden by dark glasses, Aziraphale felt his gaze burn his cheeks where the tears had not yet dried. The corner of Crowley's lips twitched, curving downward, but then his face froze into an impassive mask. Aziraphale could've been standing naked before the Black Knight in full armor, and feel less vulnerable than he did now. But this is what he deserved by pushing Crowley away, and he had no right to expect otherwise. No matter how the hole in his chest gaped, demanding the return of what was lost.</p><p>All he wanted to know was that Crowley was all right, and that the walk had brought him some relief. But as soon as Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask a question, Crowley interrupted him:<br/>
"I don't want to discuss it," he pursed his lips, as if stopping himself, locking the rest of the words away.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was to make it worse, but Crowley was right not to trust him on this. A blind man with a sword in his hand — that's what he had been a few hours ago. He should be thankful that this time Crowley wasn't going to give him a weapon. </p><p>"You wanted to set up Morgan's meeting with Arthur. Let's get right down to it," Crowley continued, frowning.</p><p>"What do you suggest?" Aziraphale asked quietly.</p><p>"I'll talk to her, you talk to him, meet me here at dawn," Crowley said quickly. Aziraphale had the feeling that he wanted to get rid of him. But all Aziraphale could've said was bogged down in the starry wind that passed through him with every breath. He had no right to ask to stay close, even though he didn't expect to be separated so soon. It was only fair. He was quiet for a while, not trusting his own voice, and watching Crowley move around nervously — like a restless flame on dry grass.</p><p>"All right. I'll go put on my armor."</p><p>Crowley nodded:<br/>
"I'll wait for you here, angel."</p><p>The familiar name, which had always thrilled Aziraphale, this time echoed in a pang of pain, and he turned away and pressed his hands to his chest, urging his all too human heart not to fall apart.</p><p>***</p><p>By the time Aziraphale rode onto the road, the fog had thickened, and its long tendrils wrapped around the hooves, swallowing up all sounds. The light dimmed, the birds fell silent. The armour constricted his movements and stung, despite the angelic miracle Aziraphale had used to put it on. In just a few days with Crowley, he had become weaned from the restraints he had lived with among humans for years; now he was clearly aware that he had stayed in one place for too long. Soon it would be time to move on. He could feel it in the air and thought sadly that he no longer anticipated change, but rather wished that nothing would be different, and that his strange life with Crowley would go on and on. At least for a little while longer.</p><p>Of course, it was an unreasonable thought.</p><p>Despite the fog, Aziraphale spotted him from a distance. A motionless silhouette on the road, as if carved into space by a shard of ice; broad shoulders, palms folded behind his back. A snow-white tunic, untouched by the wind and dust of this world. He did not need to turn around and say anything for Aziraphale to understand: time was up.</p><p>Aziraphale's throat tightened as if he were suddenly underwater instead of a forest filled with fresh air. He clenched the reins, wishing he were somewhere else, not shortening the distance, turning the horse around and pointing it in the opposite direction as fast as his legs would carry him. But he knew he could not do so; there was not a place on the whole earth where he would not be found.</p><p>He approached in stride without breaking the silence, and the archangel Gabriel turned around, smiling dazzlingly.</p><p>“Aziraphale!” he exclaimed.</p><p>Aziraphale involuntarily cringed as he dismounted from his horse. In the archangel's presence, every movement seemed awkward to him, as if his own body had changed from an old friend to a stranger he had just met in the tavern, with whom he could have nothing in common because Gabriel would not approve of him. Gabriel's smile was like a thousand blades of cold under his skin, and all of Aziraphale's fears raised their heads to meet it. Had Gabriel appeared just an hour earlier, he would have caught him having a peaceful conversation with the demon.</p><p>Aziraphale forced himself to calmly meet the archangel's gaze and respond in tone:<br/>
“Gabriel! To what do I owe the pleasure?”</p><p>“It's been a long time, Aziraphale! Support of morales is very important to us, so I decided to pay you a personal visit. To see how our valued worker is doing on the ground. If he has any complaints,” Gabriel beamed, as if he had said something witty.</p><p>“I'm quite all right,” Aziraphale said politely.</p><p>“Great, marvelous! The first front against evil is a very important job, however ridiculous it may seem, remember that. A little more and you'll get a personal commendation.”</p><p>“Really?” Aziraphale could not contain his surprise.</p><p>“Of course,” Gabriel looked around. “Speaking of work, what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?”</p><p>“I was on a commission from King Arthur. You see, I'm one of his knights. To maintain the cover.”</p><p>Gabriel raised his perfect eyebrows:<br/>
“Of course. Speaking of which,” he paused, as if awaiting Aziraphale's reaction to the change of subject.</p><p>Aziraphale clenched his palms in front of him.<br/>
“Yes?”</p><p>“We expect you to be by Arthur’s side during the battle. Of course, we have no doubt that you will complete your task, but we thought we'd remind you of its importance.”</p><p>“The battle?” Aziraphale dumbly repeated.</p><p>“He's got a big battle coming up. That’s long overdue, isn’t it?”</p><p>“But I thought my job was to help him bring peace.”</p><p>“You had that task,” Gabriel said slowly, as if explaining a simple truth to a child. “And now there will be another one. We can't let these people's lives become too peaceful, can we? Give them what they want, and they will turn away from the true faith! They'll start believing too much in themselves. People need turmoil and hardship. It brings them closer to…” He pointed his finger expressively to the sky. “All for their own good.”</p><p>“But their lives aren't exactly peaceful,” Aziraphale said. “Their lives are very difficult.”</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Gabriel pursed his lips in frustration. “Sometimes you have to take something important away from people to make them turn towards us. Isn't it obvious?”</p><p>“But isn't that what demons do?”</p><p>Gabriel laughed. His laughter made the hairs on the back of Aziraphale's neck stand up on end like a gust of cold wind. There was nothing funny about that sound.</p><p>“We need this territory, Aziraphale. And we're counting on you to do your job without asking stupid questions. Understood?”</p><p>A smile froze on Gabriel's lips without touching his eyes. Aziraphale was startled to think that there was no life in them at all. The same life that shone so brightly in Crowley's eyes. The comparison frightened him, as if Gabriel could peer into his thoughts and see there the gold and copper, the fiery seal of a kiss. But the archangel didn't wait for him to get hold of himself and respond.</p><p>“Have a good war, Aziraphale.”</p><p>He disappeared like a bad dream. Aziraphale leaned against the side of his horse, soothingly stroking its muzzle. The animal squinted its eyes at him in surprise; obviously, it was him who needed comfort. </p><p>***</p><p>The first people he met at the castle were Lancelot and Gawain. The corridors adjoining the courtyard were quiet and deserted at this afternoon hour, and he heard laughter and the rustling of clothing before he turned the corner and saw them. They must have been practicing their fighting techniques and got carried away, and that's why Lancelot was pinned against the wall and Gawain was standing so close, with his training sword down. But that didn't explain why fear flashed across Lancelot's honest face, or why his gray eyes shone so bright. Their faces were flushed, Gawain's lush dark curls mussed as if fingers too restless for their own good had just been there; Aziraphale saw Lancelot's palm twitch before clenching into a fist at his hip.</p><p>Gawain turned, and the frown on his face changed to an expression of wary joy. Aziraphale tried to imagine what Gawain might look like without the familiar seal of suspicion that made him look like a black fox. Had it been there a moment ago, before he had broken their seclusion?<br/>
“Sir Aziraphale! We did not expect you to return.”</p><p>“Quite right,” Aziraphale hesitated, clasping his hands together. He had the feeling that he was interfering in something not intended for the eyes of outsiders. “I'm afraid I have important business with the King, dear friend.”</p><p>Lancelot straightened, glancing across Gawain's face. Aziraphale now noticed all sorts of things he hadn't paid attention to before: the deliberately relaxed posture and the tension twisted within, the casual touch of hands, the lowered lashes. A secret language he did not understand, though he spoke it himself, and which now seemed so obvious. He knew where to look, because he was hiding the same thing in himself, and now he could finally admit it.</p><p>But where Lancelot and Gawain shone, filling the space around them with a soft, fragile light, as if stalks of spring flowers were about to pull through the rough stones of the walls, he felt only bitterness in himself. That's what happens when you can make a choice. That’s what happens, but not to him, not anymore, because he had ruined the only thing that mattered.</p><p>“Aziraphale, are you all right?” said Lancelot compassionately. “You look pale. Let me show you to Arthur, he will be glad to see you.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded gratefully. He knew the castle well and did not need a guide, but he did not want to be alone again: there would be time for that.<br/>
“Just tired from the journey. Lead on, Sir Lancelot.”</p><p>***</p><p>To Aziraphale's surprise, Arthur did not have to be persuaded. He greeted Aziraphale standing up and listened respectfully. People responded differently to manifestations of angelic power; Aziraphale had encountered fear, hatred, rapture — it seemed that all the feelings humans could experience got mixed together, and each time he drew a random lot, not knowing what to expect. The dignity with which Arthur held himself was pleasant; it made it possible to understand each other as if nothing had changed.</p><p>But it was Morgan's name that decided everything. As soon as Arthur heard that it was she who was seeking a meeting with him, his face brightened. Aziraphale had no doubts about Arthur’s love for his sister, so he could not understand how they had lost each other, what could have pulled them in different directions. He dared not ask, and soon they parted, agreeing to leave before daybreak.</p><p>Aziraphale's chambers had remained untouched since his departure. He sank tiredly onto his bed without even looking at the manuscripts. A strange numbness took hold of him, in which both closing his eyes and keeping them open, staring at the faint fire in the hearth, was equally unbearable. He believed he had made the right decision. It remained to be seen how many more times he had to repeat it to himself to not feel so guilty.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When people invented armour, they were concerned with fighting each other, not with the weather. It was a shame, because winter rain was one of the most unpleasant phenomena Aziraphale had ever encountered on Earth. Its cold drops rolled off his helmet and seeped through the mailed collar. A wet tunic close to his chest did not add any joy to the already gloomy morning. The sky had not yet begun to brighten, and everyone had to carry a torch. Aziraphale hoped that all the brigands were still asleep, like sensible men — their little procession was visible in the darkness, while they themselves could barely see the road, into which the horses' hooves were sinking with a squelch.</p><p>Even the usually conversational Lancelot had not spoken a word since they had left the castle. Apart from him and Aziraphale Arthur was accompanied by only one other knight, Bedivere. Aziraphale tried to stay away from him — his generosity was barely enough to keep him from blaming Bedivere for Crowley's injury. When it had happened, Aziraphale had only one thing on his mind: how to get rid of onlookers and help the foolish Serpent. Now at the sight of Bedivere he felt sparks of righteous anger threatening to burst into flames; he was stopped by the thought that the knight's intention was not evil and would be considered natural for any man. Yet people's tendency to destroy what they did not understand had long irritated him. How could they raise a hand against such a beautiful creature? Aziraphale remembered how smooth and strong and unlike anything he ever touched was the Serpent's body when Crowley curled up on his chest; he didn't doubt Crowley's ability to stand up for himself, but the desire to protect him, to hide him from the eyes of those who would do him harm, was so overwhelming that he himself was afraid of it. You'd think such impulses were in his nature as the protector of the gates of Eden and the Principality, but this was the first time he'd felt such a thing. Angels were not supposed to think of anyone as their own. It was all the more inconceivable that this desire would apply to a demon.</p><p>“My demon,” Aziraphale had to close his eyes for a moment: the overly sharp feeling contained in those two words burned his chest in the place from which the certainty of his right to speak them had been ripped out. They could not have been right, either for Heaven or for Crowley; but he knew that as long as he was alive, they would not change. Though the realisation of the nature of their relationship was new to him, not yet settled into his conception of the world and his own place in it, Aziraphale already understood that such affiliation worked both ways. And that was its main difference from belonging to God — which seemed to be the only possible thing for angels to do. Aziraphale loved Her, couldn't help but love Her, and felt divine love in return, a smoldering coal somewhere inside, from which he could draw strength to do his work on Earth. But that love made him doubt himself, it was not enough; God's gaze glided over the world, lingering on none of Her creations, not even the most faithful. That was the way he himself looked at people; that was the order of things, and it was unreasonable to covet more.</p><p>It was a good thing none of the knights asked about the dragon.</p><p>When they reached the appointed place, they disposed of the torches: a faint light began to break through the clouds, and the rain stopped. The dampness had seeped down to the bones, and it seemed impossible to get rid of it now. Crowley stood at a distance from Morgan and her companion, in whom Aziraphale recognized the hurt young man, Owen. Aziraphale raised his visor and glanced anxiously at the knights; Arthur and Lancelot were quietly removing their helmets, but Bedivere was hesitating, clutching his horse's reins with an iron gauntlet.</p><p>Having dismounted, Aziraphale approached Crowley. Bedivere's presence made him nervous; he should have taken the cursed spear when the opportunity presented itself. But he didn't, and he could only count on his vigilance and the fact that there was no way people would recognize the unfamiliar silent knight as a dragon. He wouldn't have recognized him himself, if he was relying only on his eyesight: the helmet with its visor lowered completely hid his face, and the entire armour was nothing like the scandalous appearance of the Black Knight. A sensible decision, considering the commotion he had caused in the past decade.</p><p>“Best weather to negotiate, no one would want to be here longer than necessary,” Crowley said quietly, not turning his head.</p><p>“I hope all goes well,” Aziraphale stopped beside him, and watched intently as Arthur approached Morgan. The king left his helmet and weapon in Lancelot's hands, and nothing prevented Aziraphale from seeing the expression on his face: hope mixed with disbelief, as if he did not fully understand that he saw before him his sister at last. Morgan didn't move, waiting. The hem of her simple dress was lost in the moss; her stillness made it seem as if roots might be hiding underneath and she herself was growing out of the ground. Aziraphale shook his head. In this forest, strange thoughts constantly popped into his head.</p><p>When Arthur stopped a few paces away from her, Morgan broke the silence:<br/>“Brother mine. How long has it been since we saw each other?”</p><p>“Morgan! I have been searching for you, and I thought I had lost you forever.” Arthur's face brightened as he heard her voice and he held out his hands, which she immediately took in hers. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. He had doubted the success to the last moment.</p><p>“I'm sorry, but I had to stay away,” she squeezed his hands, letting them go and smiling sadly. “Our paths are too different. But I had hoped that they would bring us in the same direction.”</p><p>Arthur frowned.<br/>“I do not understand. The druids and their stubbornness are a thorn in my side. Our strength is our faith in one God, and they refuse it. So long have I felt the rage for witches refusing to help their own people in defense against the onslaught of our enemies, only to learn my own sister is their leader! How could you go against me? Why? Did I not love you?”</p><p>“Have you forgotten everything Merlin taught you?”</p><p>At the sound of that name, Arthur flinched slightly and straightened. Morgan continued:<br/>“You are my brother and I would never go against you. We are on the same side. Only I doubt if you are capable of seeing it. You're too busy ruling your kingdom. Remember when we used to play in that grove when we were little? Remember what you believed in, what you were willing to do?”</p><p>“Morgan,” Arthur hesitated. “These are children's tales. There are real tribulations — our neighbours are getting stronger. We must unite to keep them from beating us. It is my duty to defend this land.”</p><p>“Mine too,” Morgan replied simply. “Only you forget that the land does not amount to people. You speak of God, but you serve only yourself now. To you there is only your people, and all the others are the enemy. And even of your people you make enemies — those who are not willing to fight for your idea of the kingdom. You know it is wrong, I can see it in your eyes.”</p><p>“I can't afford to think that. Albion…”</p><p>“Albion is bigger than you and your court!” Morgan exclaimed. “Just listen to yourself. That's why I couldn't stay with you. You would marry me off, and I would have to pretend, as you do now, that I notice nothing but the walls of my castle. Look around you, brother.”</p><p>A shadow passed over Arthur's face. He did not reply, but his eyes flicked to the trees behind Aziraphale and Crowley. Something akin to recognition flashed across his face and then vanished.</p><p>Aziraphale looked at the others, wondering if he was the only one who didn't understand what was going on. Lancelot's face was thoughtful. Owen shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, glancing tensely in Bedivere's direction. Bedivere, like his companions, at last had his helmet off, but his lips were curved in contempt. There was little doubt in Aziraphale's mind which of the knights had struck the young man, but he wondered if Arthur knew.</p><p>“I suppose there's no point in asking you to come back,” Arthur was now looking directly into Morgan's eyes. Something had changed between them, as if Aziraphale had missed an important part of the conversation — or it had been conducted silently all along, safely hidden behind other words.</p><p>“You know I would not,” Morgan replied softly.</p><p>“Right. But I will see to it that you are not troubled again. You are my sister.”</p><p>“Always,” she reached out and touched his cheek lightly. “You remember what we have to do. It won't be long now.”</p><p>“I'll be ready,” he took a step back without taking his eyes off her.</p><p>“I'm so sorry, brother.”</p><p>Arthur nodded and went to the horses. Aziraphale waved to Lancelot in response to the questioning look — he would join them later. Owen ran up to Morgan to talk quietly to her about something. As it happened, only Aziraphale and Crowley saw Bedivere spit to the ground before jumping on his horse.</p><p>“Not everyone seems satisfied with the happy reunion,” Crowley muttered.</p><p>After seeing the knights off, Aziraphale turned to him:<br/>“I confess I am extremely confused. Do you know what this all means?”</p><p>“Don't worry, angel, I think we'll find out,” Crowley replied. He pulled the helmet off his head and winced, running his fingers through his hair. “I wish they'd invented different clothes already.”</p><p>Aziraphale followed suit. Unlike Crowley, who looked as flawless as ever, Aziraphale’s curls drooped from the moisture and stuck to his forehead. He tried to smooth them out inconspicuously, but immediately caught Crowley’s sidelong glance, and got embarrassed. He could not tell from Crowley's face what he was thinking, though his eyes were shielded by neither visor nor dark glasses. From the very first day they had met, Aziraphale had marveled at how full they were with feeling, whatever Crowley was experiencing at that moment. Perhaps it was the reason he had begun to hide them from the world. Sincerity as something vulnerable; a truth that has no place in a demon's life. Now, for the first time, Aziraphale saw no more in them than he did in the cloud-covered sky or the forest, drowsy from the cold. Would it always be like this?</p><p>He was about to ask why Crowley was not putting on his glasses as the people were still around, but Morgan beat him to it, stepping closer.<br/>“I thought your folk didn't care for metal,” she said, eyeing Crowley's armour with honest curiosity. “Afraid of it, even.”</p><p>“Our folk?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.</p><p>Crowley merely grinned, looking at her with yellow snake eyes. Aziraphale shifted his gaze from him to the druids and back again, and his eyebrows crept up. He added quietly:<br/>“Ah. Of course.”</p><p>He knew the stories that were told around the world of the little folk. In this part of the Earth it was as if these stories were written in the very outlines of the hills and trees, taking in the colors of an unapproachable but generous nature, looking out from the silence between the beats of human hearts at their accomplishments. One might have guessed that Crowley, with his fiery curls, chiseled face, and wily manners, would be mistaken for an inhabitant of the Other Lands. That explained his relationship with the druids: they would not refuse a faerie commission, counting on their favour. People could hardly imagine demons like that; Aziraphale himself found it difficult to apply his knowledge of the Fallen to Crowley, because the image was too simple for all he remembered of the time they'd spent together. A dangerous thought, for if Crowley could pass for a faerie, not only a fiend of mischief and temptation, but also capable of blessing, then the angelic errands were not so far beyond his abilities as it seemed. Was it worth then refusing his offer?</p><p>“Every time we meet, I learn something new,” Morgan continued with a smile on her face. “I thank you both for your help, my brother and I needed to talk and remember what we know about each other. Sometimes it's so easy to forget the most important things, after all the days and years spent apart. Too immersed in our separate worlds, even though it has always been the same one. You probably don't understand it.”</p><p>Aziraphale squirmed under her scrutinising gaze, unable to find an answer.</p><p>“We, too, know the meaning of time,” Crowley said evasively.</p><p>“I have one more request.” She looked back at Owen and folded her arms in front of her like a Babylonian figurine. There was an air of uncertainty in the contrived precision of her movements, the first time Aziraphale had seen her like that. “It is about the children.”</p><p>“What about them?” Crowley threw his head up and squinted.</p><p>“I sense a change coming. If you are not going to take Angharad and Seisyll to your lands, perhaps you should find them some other shelter. They can't go back to the people you took them from, and soon we won't be able to look after them anymore. And I don't know of any place where they won't be discovered sooner or later. Only you can find them a home beyond the surrounding settlements.”</p><p>Looking in Crowley's eyes, she added softly:<br/>“I wish we could be their family, they are wonderful children. But it is dangerous for them to stay with us.”</p><p>Crowley continued to stare at her silently, so Aziraphale hastened to answer in his place:<br/>“We'll take care of everything. Don't you worry.”</p><p>A wonderful idea occurred to him, and he wanted to share it with Crowley as soon as possible. Crowley blinked and said nonchalantly, as if he were brushing something unimportant away:<br/>“Yes, yes. Of course. No complaints from me.”</p><p>Morgan shook her head, but said nothing more. They parted, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley among the silent oaks and pines. The whitish light got a little brighter, but the cold air did not become warmer; the space was saturated with a fine suspension of water, as if frozen in anticipation. For a few moments more, Aziraphale avoided looking at Crowley, shackled by the acute awareness that they were alone. And then, throwing his hands up against the neck of his armour, he turned an astonished gaze to Crowley after all.</p><p>“No need to thank me," Crowley got rid of his armour while Aziraphale was distracted, and dried Aziraphale’s clothes with a fleeting miracle at the same time. “What kept you from doing it yourself? Is this some new kind of martyrdom — the suffering from dampness?”</p><p>Aziraphale hesitated:<br/>“I'm afraid my miracles might be watched now. They will say I'm using unnecessary ones. Nor could I dry myself in public! It would be suspicious that I am content when people are so miserable in the rain.”</p><p>“They already think you're a saint, it can't get any worse.”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugged.<br/>“It is better not to test the patience of your superiors. Thank you, dear.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it.”</p><p>“And they think you are fae!”</p><p>“Wouldn't be the first time. It's even convenient. Just don't tell them I'm the serpent their ancestors saw generations ago,” Crowley grinned.</p><p>“Perhaps they know. Morgan is not so simple, don't you think?” Aziraphale rubbed his palms thoughtfully. “Something is brewing, and she is right, the children do not belong here.”</p><p>Crowley's face returned to the detached expression he'd had upon the druids’ departure, and it made Aziraphale want to reach out and touch his cheek — or hug him.</p><p>“I understand that you wanted Morgan to take care of them until they were grown,” Aziraphale hesitated, trying to catch Crowley's eye. “But they need a real family, and I know just the place.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039166/chapters/57841348">This text has illustrations!</a>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As they set out on their journey, Aziraphale realised that his whole plan required a great deal of trust. From Crowley to him, for Crowley had not even questioned his judgment of the people with whom he proposed to leave the children; he had only listened to his story and insisted on leaving at once, wasting no time. From the druids to both of them; Morgan, Owen, Gwendolyn, and five men and women of various ages, whom Aziraphale had not yet met, had clearly not expected to part from Angharad and Seisyll so soon, but after a little commotion they collected some presents and bid the children a warm farewell, while Crowley slipped away, saying there was too much sentiment for a demon; Aziraphale suspected him not entirely honest, but did not object. From children to adults, though really Angharad and Seisyll listened only to Crowley, catching his every word with absolute faith. Aziraphale felt like an uninvited observer when Crowley knelt before them and explained that the house in the woods would have to be abandoned. He did not try to make allowances for their age by softening the truth; he spoke seriously, and the children's faces reflected the same seriousness. And then he raised his eyes to Aziraphale, as if to include him in their little circle, and Aziraphale only smiled weakly in response — so overwhelmed was his heart that he could not squeeze out a word. And finally, from Aziraphale himself to the people. He did not know beforehand whether the children would be sheltered by those he remembered so unexpectedly, but somehow he was sure of it.</p><p>He had learned early on that human lives were amazingly fragile. Bright scarlet blood on the stone and helplessness mixed with horror on the face of Cain, who could not know the name for his action, because he was the first; surprise in the eyes of Eve, when the baby in her hands did not take its first breath; disease, punishment, wild beasts and even scratches, harmless at first — Death was waiting for them in every shred of darkness and cold, but always came unexpectedly. They adapted to this uncertainty as best they could: tried not to become attached to the children because few survived, invented elaborate rituals, prayed. </p><p>Sometimes their prayers were answered. But not always in time.</p><p>The spouses’ names were Sarah and Abraham, and they lived in a small village in the south of the Kingdom of Wessex. The ruler of this piece of land had sworn an oath to Arthur, as had the neighboring chieftains, but it was separated from Camelot by thick forest and marshes. Strangers seldom wandered into the village; it had happened more frequently under the Romans, who'd built a fort on the coast a few hours away, but then they had other things to worry about than such a godforsaken place. That's why the villagers didn't know that Death had a new face now, and where he came, there was no escape for anyone. In other parts of Albion, people burned fires and nailed doors shut if he came near them; the disease would only retreat to cruelty; kindness had no place near it.</p><p>Sarah and Abraham were kind people. Their house at the edge of the village was filled with laughter and voices of their three sons, and the neighbors were always around, and Abraham's opinion was listened to by the elders. When Aziraphale first crossed their threshold, he was nearly knocked down by the power of love that permeated the walls themselves, despite the grief that reigned around. The couple worked hard, took care of each other, and rightly considered themselves a happy family. But most importantly, they never refused a request for help.</p><p>So when Abraham saw a man coming out of the woods one morning, struggling to stand, he brought him home and put him to bed, while Sarah washed the scabs and spoke to him in a soft, gentle voice. </p><p>Their kindness was not lost in vain: the stranger, the last survivor of his village, did not die alone. </p><p>Five days later, the children fell ill.</p><p>Sarah and Abraham tried everything, but it soon became clear that no herbs or compresses helped. So they turned to the only salvation for desperate pious people: prayer. </p><p>If you ask the Archangel Gabriel why God does not answer appeals, he will rightly tell you that there are too many people and only one of Her. Something exceptional must happen for a prayer to be answered. It usually happens to people already marked by the divine, watched closely by angels. Aziraphale had been helping King Arthur for seven years by then, and no other angels had been sent to Earth, and Sarah was an ordinary peasant woman, not controlling the destinies of empires. But a pure heart has amazing power, and a broken heart screams a hundred times louder, and there was no moment in Sarah's life worse than when she closed the eyes of her youngest son. Aziraphale felt her despair and pleading as he sat in his chambers in the castle. They reached out through space and found him, confused, putting aside the parchment, feeling the tears on his cheeks. He shouldn't have had, but he responded: he moved to the outskirts of the village and entered her house, pretending to be an ordinary wayfarer. </p><p>He knew at once that he was too late. Death had already touched the children, and not even an angel could take away his rightful prey. Heartbroken, Abraham and Sarah tried to warn him not to go near the sick, but he gently persuaded them that he wanted to help. The smallpox, which had already afflicted much of the village, had not touched the couple. Aziraphale worked a miracle to keep it that way. There was nothing more that could be done. </p><p>Somehow the fate of these people moved him deeply; he stayed with them for several more days, discreetly using his angelic powers to cure those he could in the village and to keep the disease from spreading further. He was struck by how, even after burying their children, they did not become embittered or repine, only helped others, continuing to pray — for them this time. And for Aziraphale, a stranger, there was always a kind word and a piece of bread.</p><p>Sometimes he thought that by tasting the fruit, people had learned something beyond the reach of heavenly creatures. It was useless to try to understand the divine plan, but it seemed that this mystery was not about being equal to the gods at all, but about the punishment they had received; before the vulnerability and transience of life, their strength took on a different meaning, understandable only to those who knew the meaning of loss.</p><p>Sneaking glances at Crowley, Aziraphale wondered what She had in store for them. His heart clenched in anticipation of more pain, but he promised himself not to be weaker than the humans; it seemed almost sacrilegious in comparison to their troubles.</p><p>Because of the children, Aziraphale and Crowley had to make the path to the village in a human way, through the woods. The only thing they could afford to do to make things easier was to take the fatigue off the horse, which had since snorted suspiciously at both of them. Aziraphale and Crowley walked, having put Seisyll and Angharad in the saddle. For the children it was an adventure, and they chattered on and on about everything they saw around them. Crowley, much to Aziraphale's surprise, answered them eagerly, and even got into a joking argument with the girl; she felt it her duty to name the horse, since they were so closely acquainted now. Crowley protested vehemently against the name Buttercup, throwing up his hands in an attempt to explain that the animal should be called, at the very least, Destroyer of the World, Trampler of the Stars. Explosions of children's laughter dispersed the small animals and birds, and Aziraphale smiled silently, feeling warmth spread in his chest. He liked to watch the ease with which Crowley was having these conversations, as if he himself got at that moment a couple of millennia younger, and the shadow that always lay on his face receded briefly.</p><p>Closer to sunset, Seisyll got bored of sitting on the horse and asked to go down. This slowed their progress, but the boy was so content and bounced so importantly beside Crowley, trying unsuccessfully to match the steps of his long legs, that Aziraphale found no objection. To walk all the way in one short winter's day would have been impossible anyway.</p><p>Pretty soon Seisyll was tired; at first he took hold of Crowley's hand, then started walking slower and slower, and eventually stopped altogether. Crowley silently picked the boy up in his arms and carried him. Seisyll wrapped his arms around his neck and fell silent. The conversation with Angharad had dried up as well; though she was steady in the saddle, it was obvious that she, too, was weary from the journey. The forest was growing darker, and knotty roots were digging up more and more as if they were deliberately holding them back. </p><p>“It's time to rest, angel,” Crowley said softly as darkness fell. They were the first words he had spoken to Aziraphale in all the time they had been in the forest. It wasn't as noticeable with the children between them, but it still hurt.</p><p>They easily found a place to rest, and soon, after feeding and putting Seisyll and Angharad to bed, were sitting beside a quietly crackling fire. Buttercup grazed peacefully nearby. Crowley muttered that buttercups were harmless only in appearance, but actually poisonous, and therefore the name suited the warhorse. Aziraphale pretended to check if the children were asleep to hide his smile.</p><p>The sky cleared, and the stars peeked out between the treetops. His face felt hot, but his palms were chilly; Aziraphale hid them in the sleeves of his tunic. In the circle of light, it seemed as if hundreds of eyes were watching out of the darkness, attentive, quiet, ready to wait for a thousand years. Tongues of flame danced in Crowley's glasses; Aziraphale suddenly wanted to see them reflected in his eyes, fire melting in fire. He sighed, and Crowley immediately turned his head sharply toward him.</p><p>“What's wrong?”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled weakly.<br/>
“There is nothing wrong, dear. I just thought you did not turn into a snake today, and I hope you are feeling better.”</p><p>“I don't want to sleep all the time anymore,” Crowley shrugged. “Life must have gotten more interesting.”</p><p>Aziraphale got deeply in thought after these words and flinched when Crowley spoke again:<br/>
“Something's wrong, angel. I can see you fidgeting all day. What's happened?”</p><p>“I…” Aziraphale hesitated, not knowing whether to tell the truth. So far he'd managed not to think about meeting Gabriel; next to Crowley, it hadn't been that hard. But the shadow of Heaven had followed him since yesterday, lurking somewhere at the edge of his vision, trembling nervously in his fingers. Sharing plans with the enemy is undoubtedly unfeasible, but maybe if he didn't tell everything...</p><p>“Gabriel came to see me. They remembered me after all.”</p><p>At the mention of the archangel's name, Crowley froze, like a predator before a jump. Slowly sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose, he squinted his eyes:<br/>
“Was that twat acting like a bastard again?”</p><p>“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “He is an archangel, you can't call him that.”</p><p>“I am still putting it mildly. Come, Aziraphale, I've heard enough from you in all these years to be able to judge him correctly. The way he treats you cannot be tolerated.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed.<br/>
“He must have his reasons.”</p><p>“Bullshit! What dare he say to you this time?” Crowley snarled.</p><p>Aziraphale stared at him for a long moment, then slumped his shoulders.<br/>
“Apparently I have a new job to do, and none of the work I spent years doing in the forests and the marshes with the unwashed knights is worth a thing.”</p><p>“That's not true, angel. Look how Wessex has changed. Even my efforts to sow discord haven't worked. You've upset all my plans,” Crowley lifted the corner of his lips, as if he hadn't yet decided whether to smile. It made his face look mischievous and youthful, and the guilt overwhelmed Aziraphale with renewed strength. He wondered, for the first time, if it wouldn't be better for Crowley not to know him at all, and for Heaven to send another angel to Earth; after all, no matter what Crowley said, Aziraphale wasn't much of use. Who better than Gabriel to know.</p><p>“You are being very kind to me,” Aziraphale said softly. He shifted his gaze to the ground beneath his feet. “I am not sure I deserve it.”</p><p>“Aziraphale! I am a demon! I'm not kind,” Crowley spat out the last word as something deeply disgusting to him. “And I'm not just going to say nice things. So whatever them Heaven-sitting morons think, they ain't worth a hair on your stupid head. You're better than them... What’s happening to your face?”</p><p>Aziraphale exhaled slowly and turned sharply toward him, throwing up his arms.<br/>
“How can you think like that, how can you defend me, when I have hurt you?”</p><p>Crowley stared at him silently for a moment. Then his thin fingers tightened around both of Aziraphale's forearms, stopping the mindless movements. Aziraphale froze, caught, eyes wide open. Slowly, as if through thick water rather than the cool night air, Crowley brought his face close — and touched his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead. And then he pulled away, unclasped his hands, but Aziraphale remained unmoving, not even breathing.</p><p>Crowley grimaced and stretched his legs out in front of him, sitting back as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just knocked the ground out from under Aziraphale's feet with unexpected, unearned tenderness. </p><p>“I don't know what you want to hear, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale didn't know what to say anymore, either. He had already done everything wrong, and he felt he had no right to ask again; and yet, in that moment, hope flickered within him. Crowley was clearly not expecting him to answer, looking straight into the fire, relaxed, as if he were at home and not in the winter woods. </p><p>Shaking his head, Aziraphale lowered his arms, sat up straight, and moved a little closer. The point where their shoulders barely touched was warmer than the flames of the fire. </p><p>***</p><p>They reached the place the next day shortly before dusk. Aziraphale noted with satisfaction that no mortal, not armed with a couple of inconspicuous demonic miracles, could make the journey so quickly and easily. There was still the danger of raids from the coast, but that was unavoidable in this day and age in any part of the island. Ever since the Roman province of Britannia had ceased to exist, it had seemed to ripple like an unquiet surface of water; different tribes were reflected in it, crowding each other, and only where Arthur ruled peace was holding on, fragile, weary, resigned to neighbors from the continent who were already entrenched to the west. But the land remained unchanged, no matter whose blood spilled into it, no matter whose ashes mingled with it. The twisting trees and rocks and rivers all waited for something, their elusive whispers almost reaching the surface to name themselves. Something was coming, and two days in the deep forest had reinforced in Aziraphale a vague sense that, as Morgan had said, it was not just about human wars. </p><p>The trees parted and the freshness of the wind from the sea hit his face. The air tasted differently, and the children, weary from the journey, perked up and looked around curiously. The village hadn't changed in five years. A dozen or so neat houses with small farms, and beyond them, as far as the eye could see, fields going into the hills, with streams running through them and a small lake. Somewhere beyond them were other settlements and, finally, the big water. From the air, it was an unremarkable little place, but many generations of people had made it their home.</p><p>A stately woman with a scarf-covered mop of dark curls, which already showed considerable gray hair, emerged from the nearest house. She squinted at their approach for a moment, then hastily wiped her hands with a cloth and exclaimed:<br/>
“Noble sir Aziraphale! I never thought I'd see you again! And with the company as well!"</p><p>"Just Aziraphale, please, Sarah, we are friends. Good day. I hope we're not intruding."</p><p>She opened her arms as if to embrace Aziraphale, but didn't, just looked intently at his face. </p><p>"You haven't changed a bit, still as handsome as ever. I, on the other hand, am afraid I have lost my touch over the years." </p><p>She smiled warmly, as if that thought did not upset her at all.</p><p>"Not at all," Aziraphale hastened to assure her. </p><p>Sarah waved him off, turning her good-natured gaze to his companions:<br/>
"And who is this? Come in, come in, we welcome Aziraphale's friends. Abraham!" she called.</p><p>The children had dismounted as soon as they emerged from the forest and were now hiding behind Crowley, their hands clasping his tunic. He didn't try to stop them, just put his palms on their shoulders. Their curious eyes peered from their safe hiding place at Sarah, at the house and yard, and at Abraham, who came out, having heard the call. </p><p>Sarah glanced at her husband and flung her hands out:<br/>
"Oh, how I have let my mind wonder! It will soon be dark, and I have not put the chickens in the barn. There's no way I can do it alone, and they will be taken away by a fox. Who will help me?" </p><p>"I'll help," Angharad immediately stepped away from Crowley, apparently forgetting all her fears. "I can do it."</p><p>"I want to catch the chickens, too!" Seisyll exclaimed, running up to them. </p><p>They went to the backyard, and Crowley, before going into the house after Abraham, whispered to Aziraphale:<br/>
"What diabolical slyness. I like her." </p><p>***</p><p>Crowley left the conversation to Aziraphale and drank the beer offered to him in silence while they talked about the children. Abraham asked only a few questions and then leaned back against the wall, thinking hard. An anxious thought that it would not work flashed through Aziraphale's mind, but in the end Abraham sighed, put his broad calloused hands on the table, and said:<br/>
"I have to say, Aziraphale, it seems like you've been sent to us by God." </p><p>Aziraphale cast a warning glance at grinning Crowley, but Abraham, deep in his thoughts, did not look in Crowley's direction.</p><p>"I'll tell you, while Sarah's with the children and can't hear — she's always so cheerful and working from morning till night like nothing's wrong, only I know how she cries when she thinks I'm asleep and can't hear. It was hard to lose the boys, of course; sometimes I wonder how we survived it. And we are too old to have more babies. We tried. No one can replace them, but it is bad not to leave anything behind. That is why she grieves even more," he looked at the guests."And they are kind children, they went to help her right away."</p><p>Aziraphale smiled at him in relief:<br/>
"You are doing a good deed, I hope it will bring you much joy." </p><p>Voices were heard outside the door, and the children ran in, followed by Sarah. All three were smiling, having already become friends. Aziraphale's heart warmed; it was not winning a battle or saving the kingdom, but he felt that for four human lives they had done something important. </p><p>It grew dark, swiftly, as it always does in winter. The hosts had asked Aziraphale and Crowley to stay the night; they had to agree, because it was impossible to explain where they would go with the horse in the pitch-black, moonless darkness that spilled outside the window. Like in any other rustic dwelling, everyone had to be housed in one room. Sarah and Abraham had separated the corners with sheepskins. They did not smell very pleasant, but they provided comfort and some sense of privacy.</p><p>Aziraphale and Crowley had one corner; they lay down, leaving nearly a foot between them, and listened to Angharad and Seisyll settle in. The children were so exhausted by the new experience that they fell silent almost immediately. Soon quiet snoring was heard on the other side as well. </p><p>Aziraphale moved, trying to get comfortable on the hard straw, and heard a rustling nearby: Crowley turned his head toward him, as if to say something, but the minutes dragged on and nothing happened. Aziraphale couldn't stand it, even from a distance he could feel the heat coming from the demon.</p><p>"What?" he whispered.</p><p>"Thank you," Crowley said simply.</p><p>Only two words, and it was as if spring sunshine had peeked into the dark, stuffy room. Aziraphale smiled into the darkness:<br/>
"You have nothing at all to thank me for, my dear."</p><p>He must not have noticed how he fell asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, the house was a little brighter. In the gray twilight it was barely possible to distinguish the outlines of objects. A whisper was heard, and that was what had awakened him.</p><p>"Of course I'll be here when you wake up. I wouldn't run off without saying goodbye." </p><p>Careful not to give himself away, Aziraphale squinted his eyes to the left. Crowley was sitting up on the bed, wrapping one arm around Angharad, who had crept under his side. It was impossible to see his face in the darkness, but he spoke in a soft voice, telling the girl what her life would be like with these people, explaining why she could not stay with him.</p><p>"And I won't disappear forever. I promise to visit you sometimes. In the meantime, you look after the boy". </p><p>Listening to his calm voice, Aziraphale fell back into sleep. When he awoke at dawn, Seisyll was lying between them, and on the other side of Crowley was Angharad, still asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the whole, Aziraphale had nothing against horses. They were intelligent and beautiful animals, though they sometimes exhibited completely unbearable traits of character. Crowley had once mentioned that they were not to be trusted, but Aziraphale suspected that his attitude was due to a peculiar kind of mischievousness inherent in horses, on which the demon himself understood more than anyone else.</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s complaints about these animals began when humans invented sitting on their backs. Aziraphale believed that the human body was not fit for it, and that to be in the saddle for so long was akin to the torture, to which they subjected themselves for the dubious pleasure of moving faster. Humans were never content to stay still, wanting more than the land they were born on could offer. Aziraphale didn't understand this inability to be content with what was available, this unappeasable hunger to live. If he had a choice, a quiet corner would be enough for him, the view never changing but reliable, everything else provided by imagination, stories and conversations.</p>
<p>His fantasies had nothing to do with reality, and the only person he wanted to share them with could hardly be content with so little. But after a month of shaking on horseback, in the mud, cold and dampness, Aziraphale could not deprive himself of at least that solace. His bones ached, and the white fabric of his cloak had long since become an indistinctly gray rag. The armour seemed to have grown into his body in places that at first were only rubbed a little. Evenings when he could take it off for a while were no longer a relief: after a short rest, his body protested it a hundred times more.</p>
<p>Crowley would have asked why he suffered like a human when deliverance was just at the tips of his angelic fingers. But Crowley was not there, and as much as Aziraphale wanted to see him, it was for the best; he doubted that Crowley would accept his words about restrictions from Above. Aziraphale himself didn't fully believe that Gabriel or any of the other archangels would pay attention to him while he was on a mission. Before, he feared that if he wasn't careful, they would decide to check all the times he had invoked his angelic powers and see attempts to heal the demon among them. But time passed, and this did not happen. Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps Heaven really didn't care what he does on Earth. Or maybe they were incapable of finding out what he was doing. Still, something kept him from taking miracles lightly; at times he remembered Crowley's words about martyrdom and pressed his lips together stubbornly — he would not deliberately make trouble for himself. Whether he deserved relief and was willing to take a risk for his own sake was an entirely different question, and Crowley would certainly find something to say about it.</p>
<p>By Aziraphale's calculations, it was already February. Internal dialogues with Crowley remained his only entertainment. A cloud of grim disappointment hung over the troop of knights, and no one was idly talking anymore; even the horses were dragging their legs with difficulty, as if sensing the mood of their owners. How far away now was the day when, leaving the children in the care of Sarah and Abraham, Aziraphale and Crowley returned to the cave to find disturbed Lancelot beside it. "The King is assembling a march to Gaul". Aziraphale remembered how he closed his eyes helplessly as he heard those words, and when he opened them, caught a questioning look from behind the dark glasses. He was torn apart by Gabriel's warning that he must be near Arthur and an insistent, desperate desire not to be separated from Crowley, especially now that so much had been left unsaid. But aloud he expressed only agreement to go with Arthur, and assured Lancelot with a smile that the dragon wouldn't be a problem even if he wasn't around.</p>
<p>“Dragonslayer,” Crowley hissed good-naturedly as Lancelot left the two of them alone.</p>
<p>Aziraphale shrugged guiltily:<br/>“I'd rather have them think that than having them show up at your door while I'm in Gaul.”</p>
<p>“You are going away then.”</p>
<p>“I must,” Aziraphale said, trying to convey in that short answer all the things he couldn't say out loud. Nervously clasping his hands, he looked at Crowley. “Are you sure your problem is solved?”</p>
<p>“I don't need a babysitter, angel,” corners of Crowley’s lips lowered sullenly. “Don't forget yourself.”</p>
<p>There was no malice or hurt in his voice, only caution and a deep weariness underneath. Aziraphale was overwhelmed by tenderness, and he hastened to hide it by lowering his eyes.</p>
<p>“Will I find you here when I get back?”</p>
<p>“I'm not planning to go anywhere, but you know how it is,” Crowley jerked his shoulder.</p>
<p>Aziraphale knew. They both understood that what had happened between them in the last few days was beyond the boundaries of their existence, where freedom only had a place between the lines, where it would remain invisible to everyone but the two of them. They did not arrange meetings or ask each other questions. But throughout the vast Earth, among millions of people, their paths always converged together, sooner or later. Sometimes, when Aziraphale listened closely to himself, to the unexplored space within his true being, Aziraphale felt Crowley’s presence nearby — as one feels a flickering light behind closed eyelids, almost unnoticed until it flares up even brighter. Sometimes Crowley would take him by surprise, appearing over his shoulder like a predator sneaking up on him, playing with its prey; it wasn't fear what Aziraphale felt. But they had never intentionally sought each other out. And so he remained silent, and they went their separate ways, as they had so many times before.</p>
<p>Now Aziraphale replayed those moments in his mind, sitting in a stiff saddle somewhere in the middle of the forest on the continent. He couldn't help but notice how different everything was compared to the island they'd left: the trees, the grass, the air itself, the taste of it on his tongue when he spoke. He hadn't paid attention to such things before; the world God had created was diverse, and he took it for granted without dwelling on it. Crowley was right, nature for them was always just a backdrop of events affecting Her latest creation, human. But it was humans who began to search for meaning in what they saw and felt around them, forever bound to the home they had inherited after their expulsion from Eden. Not surprisingly, Crowley's inquisitive and keen mind grasped this. From the beginning, one could not have said of him that he looked down on people. More than once he had confused Aziraphale with the very different, but always strong and openly written on his face, feelings he felt for them or, more often, about them. If Aziraphale asked him, he would of course say that he did not care about them. But Crowley cared far more about the fate of humans than all the angels Aziraphale knew. It was embarrassing to watch, as if Crowley's presence made what was happening to humanity more real: the real deaths of little children in houses washed away by flood, the real suffering and blood of Jesus from Nazareth. This realness was raising in Aziraphale questions that should never be asked.</p>
<p>One might say that the blood of Jesus was the cause of this unsuccessful campaign. Rumors had reached the king from somewhere that here in Gaul, in a half-ruined church, there was a cup hidden in which it was collected. People called it the Grail and believed in its miraculous qualities: from power over kingdoms to eternal life for anyone who happened to drink from it. Aziraphale, who had watched the execution of Jesus from beginning to end on Golgotha, knew that no one thought to collect the blood of the poor rebel; but, as it was with the dragon, he could not say so directly. One cautious attempt to dissuade Arthur from seeking the cup was unsuccessful. Aziraphale did not dare to be more assertive, for fear of upsetting his superiors' plans: there were no new instructions, and he had to rely on Gabriel's word.</p>
<p>Aziraphale glanced around, looking at the downcast faces of the knights. At first there had been conversations among them, mingled with joyful anticipation: Arthur had believed that the Grail would help him strengthen his realm and peacefully incorporate new lands. Speaking to Aziraphale privately, he confessed that even if this sacred object could not make anyone immortal, it would be enough for people both in and around Wessex to know who possessed it to believe in his right to power. Arthur saw ruling as his duty; it was easy, listening to him, to be imbued with his desire to make the lives of his subjects better, to prevent more wars. But the knights did not find even a hint of a cup; all that awaited them was constant skirmishes with the locals, long, tedious passages, and contradictory instructions from which they got no closer to their goal, but only more and more entangled in the woods and hills.</p>
<p>Arthur took with him six Knights of the Round Table: Lancelot, Aziraphale, Galahad, Percival, Bors and Gaheris. They were accompanied by a detachment of a couple dozen warriors — any larger force would have made the search difficult. Wessex was left in the care of Kay, Bedivere, Gawain, Gareth, Tristan and Agravaine. Aziraphale secretly thought that the quiet and judicious Queen Guinevere would have done a better job, but since the days of Boudicca people had invented more ridiculous conventions for themselves, and such an offer would be met with bewilderment.</p>
<p>They were approaching the castle where they planned to rest, a forgotten luxury after a series of nights in hastily stretched tents that let in wind and raindrops. The master of the castle was a distant kinsman of Arthur's, so they could count on hospitality. Aziraphale's cloak snagged on a branch with long thorns, and he tugged thoughtlessly at the fabric, trying to free it without stopping his horse. There was a crackling sound: the thorn had passed through the hem, splitting it in two, the torn edges curling sadly inward. Aziraphale took a deep breath and forced himself to look away. He wondered if it was time to put the thought of a return in Arthur's mind. Such a defeat would not add to the king's popularity, but to waste so much time and energy in vain when one could apply it to something more useful at home was simply foolish. Though he continued to wait for the battle Gabriel had predicted, ready for an attack at any minute, his patience was coming to an end; he liked that cloak.</p>
<p>The setting sun gilded the bare branches of the bushes that surrounded the castle, the rough boards and stones of the masonry, the dirty sheep in the meadow. The usual picture of a petty ruler's life looked almost festive, and the knights cheered up a little, anticipating the warmth of the hearth and a hearty dinner. Gaheris raised the banner high so the host could see who was approaching and not think anything untoward. As they moved closer to the moat, however, Arthur, who led the party, raised his palm in a silent order to stop. Hands dropped to the sword handles, and Percival and Galahad steered their horses closer to the king. From behind their backs Aziraphale could not see what was happening, but a moment later a cry was heard:<br/>“Sire! At last!”</p>
<p>The voice was vaguely familiar, though distorted by troubled breathing. Arthur leaped from his horse and hurried toward the man. Aziraphale watched in astonishment as he wrapped someone in a tight embrace; then he backed away a step and Aziraphale could hardly recognize Sir Gareth in the sickly lean man it revealed.</p>
<p>“My God, what had happened to him?” Lancelot muttered.</p>
<p>On Gareth's gray face, horror mingled with joy and relief. He looked like a man who had ridden alone across half a continent, giving himself no rest. Aziraphale suspected that this was exactly what had happened.</p>
<p>“Gareth, what is the matter? What are you doing here?” Arthur asked. His hand remained on the knight's shoulder, supporting him.</p>
<p>“How fortunate that I found you. I had despaired, though I followed the path you drew,” he exhaled. Arthur furrowed his brow impatiently but kept silent. “You must return at once. Bedivere…”</p>
<p>Gareth's face twisted painfully, as if he were having great difficulty with words. Aziraphale grew cold with anticipation of what was to come.</p>
<p>“He declared that only the one who is not afraid to rule should rule. Meaning himself, of course. He said you'd grown weak, shacking up with pagans and sorcerers. Somehow he got most of the army on his side, and the rest were afraid to speak out. Forgive me, Sire, it all happened so quickly — who would have thought one of us capable of such treachery?</p>
<p>“How long ago?”</p>
<p>“Twelve days after you left. I ran away to warn you, but it took me too long to find you,” Gareth lowered his head repentantly.</p>
<p>“What of the queen? And the others?” Arthur asked quickly.</p>
<p>“The last I heard, Lady Guinevere had been locked in her chambers and Agravaine said he would not leave her door. It happened at the beginning of the night, and where the others were, I do not know. I had to get out and get to you, so I didn't go looking for them. Who's to say who can be trusted now,” he looked up at the knights, as if noticing them for the first time. “I don't think he did it all by himself.”</p>
<p>Lancelot gripped the reins until his knuckles turned white. Aziraphale's mind flashed to the thought that now he wouldn't have to persuade Arthur to finish the quest, but it was a joyless one.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The army was waiting for them in the field through which the road to Camelot passed. It was noon, and the infinitely high, clear sky tipped like a clear blue bowl to the ground. Though it was already mid-February, and snowdrops were beginning to bloom in the forests, there was a distinct smell of metal in the air, like in the frostiest days of winter. The warriors, and Bedivere at their head, stood still. Arthur's squad quietly took up positions, and the silence became absolute; even the crows circling in the distance didn't make a sound, as if unwilling to break it.</p>
<p>Arthur's kinsman had sent his warriors with him, but they were still outnumbered. Aziraphale glanced behind Bedivere and saw many familiar faces, only Agravaine, Tristan, and Gawain were absent. He couldn't help noticing how desperately Lancelot was searching the sea of silver helmets with his eyes; unsuccessfully, as Aziraphale himself.</p>
<p>"Where are you," he thought.</p>
<p>All the way from Gaul, Aziraphale shunned the thought that Crowley had anything to do with the coup. But it would be foolish to deny the possibility. It was too much like the forces of Hell to sow discord and lead to treachery. And just when Aziraphale was not around to prevent it! Aziraphale did not tell Crowley about his mission; of course, neither would Crowley reveal his plans to him. Except why did Aziraphale not feel his presence anywhere?</p>
<p>Bitterness and anger were mingled with anxiety, and Aziraphale couldn't even tell himself what he was going to do when he found him.</p>
<p>Someone's horse snorted, the plates of armor rattled, muffled, as every other sound. For another few moments Arthur looked directly at Bedivere; the latter, contrary to Aziraphale's expectations, did not lower his gaze in response. There was no trace of remorse on his face, thin lips curved contemptuously, and he clutched his spear tightly. Bedivere was fiercer than all the knights, never for a moment allowing anyone to think that his lack of one arm made him any weaker than them. His bravery was legendary: a knight who fights without a shield but never retreats. What a pity his arrogance turned out to be so great.</p>
<p>"You greet me so solemnly, brother," Arthur said quietly.</p>
<p>Bedivere bowed, sneering.<br/>"The occasion is special, you are all just in time for my wedding. There was a formality I could not attend to without you. Will you lend me your brotherly help?" </p>
<p>Kay, who was standing next to him, grimaced. Apparently, despite his loyalty to his closest friend, he didn't like Bedivere's words that much. Arthur's attentive eyes flicked to his face and then back to Bedivere.<br/>"You know that I am always ready to help you. Like when your father died, and I gave you shelter and a place among the knights." </p>
<p>"Yes, yes. I have paid for your kindness in full," Bedivere interrupted sharply. "I fought for you and was ready to give my life because I believed you were for the right cause, for the one God. We all did!" He waved his hand, pointing to his troops. "But you have become too soft, Arthur. You are incapable of leading this kingdom to glory in God's name. And what are we without God's word? A band of heathens, like your sister and her witch spawn. But it's over. I know now that I must save Wessex." </p>
<p>"Is that so," Arthur answered quietly. "Would you kill your brothers for this?" </p>
<p>"I know I am right, and you cannot change my mind. You would help me a lot and save a lot of lives, if you would just die! You see, otherwise I can't be the Queen's new husband." </p>
<p>"And what does Lady Guinevere think of that?" </p>
<p>"It's her duty. She will either understand it or share the fate of the other rebellious ones," Bedivere grimaced.</p>
<p>All the color receded from Lancelot's face. Arthur drawled thoughtfully, almost sad:<br/>"How poorly you know your queen." </p>
<p>Bedivere did not reply. They stared at each other; time stood still, tense, like a bowstring about to snap from fingers. Despite all the words, no one wanted to be the first to raise a weapon.</p>
<p>Suddenly a scream cut through the silence; one of the warriors, Aziraphale didn't even know on which side, raised his sword. And everything turned to chaos.</p>
<p>Weapons rang as they clashed. Wounded horses roared loudly. People threw themselves at each other, and it was hard to tell who was a friend and who was a stranger; and were there any strangers in this field?</p>
<p>Aziraphale found himself pushed back from Arthur and the other knights. The ranks of warriors closed in, Buttercup bumped into someone in the commotion, and Aziraphale, fully focused on trying to find the king, for the first time in his time on Earth lost his balance in the saddle. He collapsed heavily, and immediately sprang to his feet. A human in his position would have been bruised and unlikely to rise from such a fall. But that was where his luck ended: the horse sprinted off to the side, Aziraphale, dodging the blows, darted after it, and eventually found himself even further away, on a small rise outside the line of the battle. He managed to grasp the reins, and stopped to catch his breath. In one thing his new position was better: even standing on the ground, he could now see everything that was going on.</p>
<p>His eyes found the familiar helmet; Arthur had successfully fought off his attackers. Aziraphale also noticed Bedivere, who was stubbornly approaching the king. Their descent from here seemed inevitable; the other warriors parted before them; it would not be long before they found each other.</p>
<p>Aziraphale was about to jump back into the saddle, but the frightened horse recoiled. At the same moment he felt the heat next to him and the familiar scent of leather, burnt tar, rain-soaked earth. A whisper, hotly flowing from his ear, pinned him in place.</p>
<p>"Looking for me, angel?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
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    <p>“Crowley!”</p><p>Aziraphale turned abruptly, ready to smite the reckless serpent with an indignant glare. What is with the bad habit of sneaking up, even during a battle? But as soon as he saw him, the words got stuck in his throat.</p><p>Crowley was standing too close and took a step back in response to the movement, but the face beneath open visor did not change; the soft, slightly mocking expression in his yellow eyes against all Aziraphale's concerns was like a balm to his heart, weary from the march and the inner turmoil. Aziraphale’s cheeks and ears were still burning, there was no hope that Crowley had not noticed how he had responded to his appearance.</p><p>But as much as Aziraphale was glad to see Crowley after a long separation, some things demanded immediate attention. He frowned, trying to pull himself together, then pursed his lips haughtily.</p><p>Crowley, not noticing anything amiss, asked:<br/>“So, how was the trip? This mess looks serious.”</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale decided not to answer the question and collect in his voice all the annoyance he had felt before. “You are already acquainted with Bedivere's spear, why test your fate? Or do you know something I don't?”</p><p>“What do you mean, angel?” Crowley shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. There was genuine bewilderment in his eyes. “I felt something coming, so I thought I'd check it out. I knew I’d find you here.”</p><p>Aziraphale was losing patience. It wasn't even about Crowley's innocent answers, it was about how hard it was to hold back in frustration and anger, not to succumb to that familiar friendly tone and not respond with the same ease. He was angry, not at Crowley, but at himself — for his weakness; love should not prevent him from doing his job, for surely Crowley himself has no such difficulty.</p><p>“Is this your doing?” Aziraphale added a few strong curses to himself as he heard how the question sounded: with hurt and hope instead of righteous anger.</p><p>Crowley absent-mindedly raised a hand to the back of his head, as if intending to run it through his hair, and pulled it away when it touched the helmet instead.</p><p>“I just wanted to have a peek at what was going on. I thought it would be easy to hide in the grass, and no one would notice a snake,” Aziraphale was taken aback by his confused tone. “Who knew the soldiers were so nervous, he saw me and yelped! And they all jumped at each other immediately like mad. Just give them a reason.”</p><p>“Wait, you mean what just happened, the beginning of the battle?” Aziraphale was so surprised that he'd forgotten how hard he'd tried not to show interest, to be more like Gabriel and Uriel with their cold indifference. “I am asking about the coup! About Bedivere and why he suddenly decided to betray King Arthur!”</p><p>The clang of weapons, the screams and groans of pain grew louder and louder. Crowley's lips fell open in silence. He stared at Aziraphale with such bewilderment, as if the thought had never occurred to him. He hesitated, and then said cautiously:<br/>“You think I did it?”</p><p>“Who else?” Aziraphale pursed his lips.</p><p>“Angel, I swear it wasn't me.”</p><p>“I don't think it was your decision, but your…” He pointed a finger down. “You might have been ordered to.”</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then turned towards the battlefield. They could see everything from this point. “Look. I didn't want to tell you if you hadn't noticed yourself, but I guess I have to.”</p><p>“I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking at,” Aziraphale said irritably.</p><p>“Just watch. You will.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked around the battle. To his relief, all the knights and Arthur himself were uninjured and still dodged blows with ease. Bedivere and Kay were also fighting, but so far didn’t come close to them. Except for the familiar faces Aziraphale's gaze snatched, the warriors merged into a single stream that shimmered in the space between the hills like a rough sea or wheat in the wind. For a moment he imagined that this was all that remained; like a vision of the future, where the trampled grass was rising again, oblivious to human passions. He looked over the field from edge to edge, and was about to ask Crowley again what he was trying to tell him, but something caught his attention, subtle as movement at the very edge of his field of vision. Blinking, he looked again — this time differently.</p><p>To human eyesight, indeed, nothing remarkable was happening. But as he touched another layer of existence, he saw a glow, emanating from the very centre of the battle; from where Bedivere had shouted something to his friends. The glow trembled in the air of a world it did not belong in, like a streak of light behind closed eyelids after looking at the sun. It was coming from the spear.</p><p>Aziraphale sucked in the air sharply, and Crowley asked, tone deliberately casual:<br/>“A consecrated weapon, you say?”</p><p>“It can't be.”</p><p>“Can't be how lucky I am,” Crowley muttered.</p><p>Aziraphale shuddered. He turned sharply towards Crowley.<br/>“It is the spear of an archangel. How could I not see it?”</p><p>“I can only guess, but it seems there was something hiding its full power the last time we saw it. Sir What's-His-Name didn't seem all that confident either. Where did you say he got it from?”</p><p>“Arthur sent him and Kay to help his distant kinsman. Bedivere got the spear as a trophy when he killed the giant.”</p><p>“And of course, except for a friend who's practically attached to him, no one can tell what really happened there.”</p><p>“Crowley... What do you mean?” There were notes of despair in Aziraphale's voice, but he didn't care anymore.</p><p>“What I mean, angel, is that I am sure as hell not the kind of person who would hand a human the weapon I'd want to stay as far away from as possible. And I suppose the only way for a mortal to get their hands on such a toy is if its owner gives it to him.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned pale. It was unthinkable, but didn't Gabriel's words seem equally unthinkable to him earlier?</p><p>“If you extend this line of thought further, I think this belligerent narcissistic fool didn't realize at first what good fortune had come to him. And then he was coaxed into it,” Crowley continued ruthlessly.</p><p>“They had their reasons for doing it,” Aziraphale replied in a weak voice.</p><p>Crowley looked at him intently. Aziraphale expected him to start arguing, to utter the words that were rolling around on the tip of his own tongue — the other angels hadn't even told him their plans, and it should have been clear to Crowley from the silly accusations thrown in his direction. How much more humiliating this made Aziraphale's position! Crowley would now realize how little he really meant in the eyes of his brothers; how easily he could be forgotten; how useless he was.</p><p>But Crowley turned his gaze to the battle and said something else entirely:<br/>“Nevermind. All that matters is that he's going to slaughter everybody there now.”</p><p>“Apparently, that's what my side wanted,” Aziraphale admitted.</p><p>Crowley hummed, looking straight ahead.<br/>“It's hard to watch when you know them personally.”</p><p>Aziraphale inhaled deeply and tasted the metal on his tongue. He felt a wave rising from within him, but he didn't know what it would bring. He needed more time, but time was slipping through his fingers, leaving him helpless before reality. He saw Arthur and Bedivere turn — if one of them had done so a moment later, they would not have noticed each other, separated by their warriors; but it happened simultaneously, and now their convergence was inevitable. He saw riders emerge from the other side of the hill and pour down like shadows; just a couple of heartbeats and their faces were visible. It was Gawain and Agravaine and Tristan, with a whole army behind them. Arthur's warriors saw them, too, and gave a joyous cry. Lancelot, distracted, barely dodged a sword blade flying into his face. Bedivere, as if the enemy's reinforcements only gave him strength, lunged at Arthur, scattering everyone from the way. His spear clashed with the king's sword; Arthur swayed, showing how hard it was to hold back — he could not have expected such force from a mere blow. Unbeknownst to the men, the spear shone brighter, almost blinding.</p><p>Aziraphale rushed forward.</p><p>A curse could be heard behind him, but he paid no attention, aiming toward where Arthur was fighting Bedivere. Other warriors had dispersed, forming a ring around them. Aziraphale was very close, but he had no time — what for, he could not have answered himself — the horses were panting, the spear flying forward again, toward the chainmail, which was powerless before it. He shouted, trying to warn Arthur, and time exploded around him; his human body was too slow; but the Guardian’s eye noticed everything.</p><p>Bedivere twitched at Aziraphale's shout, turning his head in his direction for a moment. It was enough for Arthur's sword to pierce his side. Bedivere's face twisted into a grimace of hatred; he sank back like a rag doll, but somehow he did not drop his spear. It lunged forward in a straight line, and when he slid from his horse's back and fell dead to the ground, it became clear why.</p><p>The spear had managed to pierce Arthur's armor. It was sticking out of his chest, and it looked completely wrong, like a mockery of the way the world works, in which steel should not go into steel like into butter.</p><p>Arthur continued to sit very still for a while, and then he collapsed down, exactly where Bedivere lay.</p><p>Aziraphale shouted, not stopping. Part of his consciousness caught his voice drowning in the noise of other voices; very close by, Gawain had jumped off his horse, rushed toward the king, and crashed his whole body into Lancelot, who was blocking his path. They were both pale, but Lancelot's face was determined, while Gawain looked at him in bewilderment. Lancelot shouted something, trying to hold him by his forearms, and Gawain's fist crashed into his cheekbone. Lancelot swayed, but held on. The last thing Aziraphale saw was them looking at each other, covered in blood.</p><p>He'd nearly made it when he felt a blow from behind; his eyes blackened, his legs buckled, refusing to obey. He touched his shoulder, which felt as if it had been scorched with fire, and then he put his fingers to his face and saw the blood on them.</p><p>Aziraphale was falling, and the ground was somehow so far away. He thought how much it would hurt to collide with it, but he was picked up under his untouched shoulder and carried somewhere. He tried to say something, to object, because he knew whose hands were holding him so tightly, and he needed to be there, with Arthur, not with Crowley. The battle continued, swooping in and dissolving into space. He saw Morgan in the distance, slender, all in black, leaning over Arthur's body, and wondered why she was here.</p><p>Then he did fall, but the ground that took him was soft. Or it was the hands that guided him down, down.</p>
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